PANAMA  SONGS 


(Copyright,  1906.) 
BY 

MICHAEL   DELEVANTE. 


NEW  YORK: 

ALDEN    BROTHERS, 
PUBLISHERS. 


To 

DOCTOR  AMADOR  GUERRERO, 
FIRST  PRESIDENT 

OF 

THE  REPUBLIC  OF  PANAMA,, 
THIS  BOOK 

is 
SINCERELY  AND  RESPECTFULLY 

r 

DEDICATED. 


My  home  is  where  the  tropic  glare 

With  glory  crowns  the  Palms! 

Where  the  breakers  roar  on  the  coral  shore 

With  wondrous-sweet  alarms! 

Where   the  Trade-Winds   blow   through   the 

Summer-glow, 

And  Hatred  builds  her  Shrine — 
Where  Friendship's  star,  in  a  Cocktail  Bar, 
Burns  bright  'neath  the  flush  of  the  Wine. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

AUTHOR'S  INTRODUCTION 9 

PANAMA  SONGS: 

Oh,  Panama,  Brave  Panama 13 

Twinkle,  Twinkle,  Incandescent 14 

So  Scant  of  Faith  Our  Little  Isle 15 

Our  Club  List 16 

The  Christmas  Tree 19 

A  Colon  Pay-Day  Incident 20 

A  Colon  Sunset 22 

The  Dredges 23 

An  Invierno  Revery 24 

Our  Club 25 

Christina,  the  Mad  Girl 26 

Colon  Light  House  to  Point  Toro  Light  House.  27 

A  Sunday  Symphony , .  28 

Architectural. 30 

Retrenchment 31 

They've  got  Me  Hooked 31 

Some  Colon  Conclusions 33 

The  Af ricanos 35 

The  Trade  Winds  and"  Old  Pluvius' 37 

The  Rains  Are  Falling 40 

'Ere's  to  Us 41 

There's  a  Man  About  the  Town 43 

Song  of  the  Electric  Light 

A  Song  of  the  Weather 

The  Date  Tree  Palm 47 

Reviewal 48 

A  Verano  Ode 50 

The  "Panther-Boys" 52 

Tete-a-Tete 53 

A  Ballad  of  the  Times 55 

The  "Acapulco" 56 

,He  Just  Couldn't  Stay  Away 57 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

That's  What  I  am 59 

The  Critic  Criticised 60 

Keep  'Em  Away,  for  the  Lord's.  Sake ! 61 

In  Dialect 62 

The  Dream  of  a  Colon-Sunshiner 64 

Confessional 65 

Under  Two  Flags 68 

Songs  of  To-Day 69 

The  Unpopular  Man 71 

OTHER  POEMS: 

Our  First 73 

The  Malevolent 73 

A  Fragment 74 

Eddy 75 

The  Rejected  Lover 75 

Lo,  Sylvanus 77 

To  My  Sydanna 77 

Gone 79 

New  Year,  1892 80 

Our  Little  Lives  Are  Mysterious 81 

Distinctions ' ^  82 

Through  Life  We  Travel  All  Alone 83 

Tennyson 84 

Bill  McKinley 86 

Consuelo 87 

The  Dawn  and  Lucille 89 

Truth 89 

Meemy 90 

The  Storm 91 

The  Song  of  Silver. ,  92 

The  Christmas  Serenade 93 

Midnight  Ode  to  the  Dying  Year 94 

My  Ambition 95 

I'm  Going  Home -.-. 96 

I  Love  to  Wander* 97 

The  Present.... *  98 

The  Past 99 

The  Future 100 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

I  Wonder 100 

So  They  Say.... 101 

Awake 102 

I  Dreamt  of  Thee 103 

A  Plaintive  Lullaby 104 

Back  to  My  Isthmian  Home 105 

So  You've  Heard  That  My  Heart  Is  Plighted.. .  107 

I  See  Thee  Now,  Sydanna 108 

One  Year  Agone , no 

My  Ship  Sails  Over  the  Blue in 

Cuba  Libre 112 

Address  to  the  Sky 113 

Homeward  Bound 115 

There's  Joy  Upon  the  Sea  To-Day 117 

A  Message  from  the  Sea 121 

The  Opera  Cloak 123 

Waiting 124 

The  Wind,  the  Wave  and  Alethia 126 

Farewell,  Sweetheart ! 129 

They're  Going 130 

A  Toast 132 

A  Meditation 133 

I've  Set  Myself  a  Lesson  to  Learn 134 

New  York 134 

In  Dream  Land 136 

The  Mystic  Nine 139 

The  Ballad  of  a  Coal  Miner f 139 

So  Let  It  Be 141 

Night 142 

New  Year's  Eve,  1903 144 

A  Cat's  Obituary 146 

Just  a  Woman's  Way 147 

To  Si  r  Thomas  Lipton 149 

The  Slate's  Redemption 151 

A  Bird-Song 154 

There  Are 155 

In  Love-Land 156 


INTRODUCTION. 

"Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see, 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  could  be ! 
In  every  work  regard  the  writer's  end, 
Since  none  can  compass  more  than  they  intend." 

The  earlier  poems  contained  in  this  volume, 
those  which  date  back  to  1894 — all  of  which 
have  since  been  carefully  revised,  and  a  spirit 
of  the  new  times  infused  in  some  of  them — 
have  already  appeared  before  the  public,  un- 
der the  title  of  "First  Blossoms."  The  later 
poems  appear  for  the  first  time  in  book-form. 

Literature  is  not  my  vocation :  I  am  simply  a 
devotee  before  its  glorious  shrine — a  wor- 
shiper of  that  which  lifts  men's  souls  up  to  the 
higher  and  sublimer  life !  I  am  but  a  toiler  of 
the  Desk;  and  this  volume  is  simply  the  work 
of  forced  leisure  nights  and  Sundays  borrowed. 

I  have  written  under  severe  difficulties — 
even  under  domestic  protests,  entered  and  ex- 
tended to  the  fullest  measure ;  for  jealous  Love 
would  invariably  step  in  and  divorce  me  from 
Pegasus  just  when  I  thought  I  had  caught  him 
by  his  wing,  and  held  him  in  securely!  It, 


I0>       .  .  .       INTRODUCTION. 

therefore,  happened  that,  oftentimes,  I  was 
compelled  to  hide  myself  and  wait  to  catch 
him  again  on  the  "fly" ;  for,  despite  of  inter- 
ruptions, I  had  determined,  come  what  may,  to 
accomplish  this  much,  however  little  it  might 
be. 

Then,  again,  when  I  tell  my  readers  that  this 
book  has  been  conceived  and  written  in  a  house 
where  the  noise  and  laughter  of  happy  little 
children  have  swelled  all  other  dins  above — 
with  no  particular  apartment  dedicated  to  me 
exclusively — writing  any  and  everywhere — 
they  will  not  wonder  at  rinding  defects  innum- 
erable. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  I  send  my  "Pan- 
ama  Songs"    out — seeking  no   special   public 
commendation  whatever — expecting  only  the 
just  and  impartial  criticism  of  my  readers. 
MICHAEL  DELEVANTE. 

Colon,  Republic  of  Panama,  December,  1903. 


SONGS  OF  THE  PANAMA  ISTHMUS. 


OH.  PANAMA,  BRAVE  PANAMA. 

Oh,  Panama — brave  Panama ! — 
Full  weaned  from  thy  late  sires— 

I  sing  to  thee,  dear  Panama, 
The  song  my  soul  inspires. 

I  wing  the  anthem  wild  and  free 

Across  the  boundless  blue, 
Till,  'long  thy  marge  of  murmuring  sea, 

My  song  come  back  to  you — 

Till,  on  the  pinions  of  the  breeze, 

It  reach  thy  furthest  Bays — 
Be  scattered  o'er  the  briny  seas —  ' 

Tossed  on  the  silver-sprays! — 

Gifts  within  gifts  are  thine — thou  hast 

Thy  storied  rivers  of  gold ; 
And,  in  thy  virgin  forests  vast, 

A  Nation's  wealth  untold. 

Thou  hast  the  secret  of  two  seas 

Within  thy  jungles  dense — 
Thou  art  the  keeper  of  the  keys 

Of  two  great  Continents. 


14  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Thou  nast,  unbosomed  in  the  Past, 

My  Boyhood's  golden  dreams ; 
But  all  the  hopes  my  soul  had  massed 

Are  vanished  like  sunbeams! 

tThou  hast  thy  sons — the  dauntless,  true — 

Thy  mighty  Ministers, 
iWhom  God  this  all-great  hour  lead  through 

With  Wisdom's  wisest  powers! 

Ten  thousand  golden  Years  be  thine! 

From  Strife,  the  sweet  surcease; 
Above  thy  new-born  banner  shine, 

The  glorious  stars  of  peace. 


TWINKLE,    TWINKLE,    INCANDES- 
CENT. 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  Incandescent, 
How  you  jump  and  toss  incessant ! 
As  the  breezes  'gainst  you  dash, 
Down  you  tumble  with  a  crash! 
Late  your  lights  are  very  poor, 
They  scarcely  "see"  us  to  the  door: 
Now  they  flicker — now  they're  bright, 
Till,  like  a  ghost,  they  take  their  flight, 
And  leave  us  in  the  darkness  groping— 
O,  we  count  it  most  provoking, 
Just  when  at  our  dinners  seated — 


PANAMA  SONGS.  15 

'Fore  our  meals  are  half  completed — 
To  be  thus,  so  badly  treated! 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  Incandescent ! 
Why  so  stubborn,  so  persistent? 
I  have  told  you,  of  times  a  score, 
That  your  costly  light  was  poor; 
And  I  tell  you  once  again, 
That  your  star  is  on  the  wane. 

February,  1901. 


SO   SCANT  OF  FAITH   OUR  LITTLE 
ISLE. 

So  scant  of  faith  our  little  Isle; 
So  prodigal  of  craft  and  guile, 
And  war-like  spirits — a  lovely  pile! — 
We  fight,  and,  fighting,  fight  in  style ! 
We  woo  the  False,  eschew  the  Truth; 
Our  Janus-natures,  born,  in  sooth, 
Of  Hate  enough  a  horse  to  kill, 
Take  arms  and,  with  malicious  will, 
Ten  thousand  plots  of  wrong  fulfil! 
Not  wholly  haters  of  our  kind, 
But,  like  the  boy,  who  leads  the  blind, 
We  seek  for  peace,  that  lags  behind, 
The  peace  we  ne'er  shall  find. 

September,  1801. 


l6  PANAMA  SONGS. 

OUR  CLUB  LIST. 

A — stands  for  Anderson,   whom  the  Schot- 

tische  delights, 
And  Ashby  who  seeks  for  his  subjects 

their  rights. 
B — stands    for    Blixt,    and    Beveridge,    the 

Scotch — 
Bermudez,  who  makes  of  the  English  a 

botch ! 

C — stands  for  Cecil,  who  has  lots  of  fun ; 
D — for  Delevante,  Dolphy,  Degallon, 

Deboteau,  Dogherty,  Uriah  DeLeon. 
E — stands  for  Evans,  who  of  Mars  all  can  tell, 
And  Ehrman,  who  tries  to  outdo  Philo- 
mel! 

F — stands  for  Eraser,  our  Waltzer  the  best — 
Faulette,  'gainst  whose  height  there  are 

few  to  contest! 
G — stands  for  Gilbert,  our  President  Ex; 

Of  Presidents  he  is  the  Right  Royal  Rex! 
H — stands  for  Humphreys  and  Hambrook  and 

Horn — 
Herrera,  who,  if  you'll  let  him,  will  dance 

until  morn ! 
And  Halstead  and  Hollier  appear  on  the 

List, 
And  Haffeman,  too,  whom  we  lately  Have 

missed ; 
Another  Herrera  adorns  our  page — 


PANAMA   SONGS.  17 

If  I  don't  put  him  down  he'll  get  in  a 

rage! 
I — is  not  in  it —  /  is  sorry  to  say ; 

But  when  /  is  dancing,  get  out  of  Fs  way ! 
J — stands  for  James,  who  pays  highest  Ex- 
change, 
But  never  comes  up  to  the  Club — it  is 

strange ! 
K — shares  the  same  fate  as  I  on  the  List ; 

May  K-us  forever  keep  'way  from  our 

midst ! 
L — stands  for  Levi,  Limberi,  Lebeuff — 

The  last  mentioned  gent,  sure  he  serves  us 
enough ! 

M — stands  for  Mott,  our  President  new — 

The  revision  of  Article  Four  he  would  rue ! 

And   Mendes,   Messias,   come  under  the 
M— 

Messias,  though  last,  is  not  least  among 

them. 
N — like  the  /  and  the  K,  it  seems  is  non  est; 

N  says  that  /  Kan  be  none  of  the  best ! 
O— like  the  I,N  and  K,  is  not  in,  I  think— 

O  says  that  I-N-K  always  spells  INK. 
P — stands  for  Pasos — Pepito — that's  clear — 

Pepito  is  running  for  President's  Chair. 
Q— on  the  Q-T,  I  find  is  quite  blank ; 

So,  with  O,  I,  N,  K,  Q  will  fall  into  rank. 
R— stands  for  Raillac,  we  don't  often  see, 


l8  PANAMA   SONGS. 

And  Russell,  who  think's  he's  the  boss  of 

the  Glee! 
S — stands  for  Sarria,  Shaffer,  Soracco — 

Stevenson,   too,   and   our   friend   Moritz 

Sasso. 
I—stands  for  "Tolo"— in  full,  Toledano, 

And  Taylor  of  "Man  in  the  Moon"  fame, 

you  know. 
U — as  you  no  doubt  will  see  at  a  glance, 

Like  O,  I,  N,  K,  Q,  has  made  no  advance. 
V — Fve  searched,  and  can  find  nothing  there — 

Like  7.  Q,  U  KNO,  V  is  not  a  compeer. 
W — stands  for  Wardlaw,  who,  you  all  will  re- 
member, 
His  bachelor  days  brought  to  end  last 

September. 
X — as  Xpected,  is  out — there  is  none; 

But  V,  Q,  U,  I  KNO  that  X  has  no  fun! 
Y — Y  hide  the  truth  ?    Y  is  out,  I  admit ; 

He  once  was  amongst  us,  but  made  his 

exit. 
Z — say  that  Z  IZ  not  here  at  the  feast — 

Vy,  NO   QUIZ,  XKUse  me,  this  Z(e- 
bra)'s  a  beast. 

October,  1892. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  1 9 

THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE. 

'Twas  Christmas  Eve,  and  every  heart  was 
glad, 

As  forth  the  music  streamed! 
The  Christmas  Tree,  with  gewgaws  dight, 

In  gorgeous  splendor  gleamed. 

Then  came  the  little  revellers — 

The  beauties  of  this  Isle ! — 
Their  cheeks,  like  the  early  flowers  of  Spring, 

All  tinged  with  a  sunny  smile. 

In  Youth's  fresh  bloom  arrayed  they  came — 
Their  footsteps  all  blithe  and  gay — 

Like  beings  strayed  from  their  native  stars, 
They  wandered  this  sinful  way. 

Oh,  how  they  revelled  in  .the  dance !, 

Did  ye  hear  their  mirthful  noise 
As  'round  the  Christmas  Tree  they  swung, 
Those  bright-eyed  girls  and  boys. 

Saw  ye  their  sweet  seraphic  forms? — 

The  effulgence  of  their  eyes? 
Heard  ye  their  laughter,  prattle  swell 

To  exulting  harmonies? 

I  watched  them  in  the  game  of  Chance — 
Some  faces  radiant  with  glee; 


2O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

On  others  I  read,  "Oh,  Santa  Claus, 
Have  you  got  nothing  for  me  ?" 

And  then  I  fell  to  dreaming  dreams 
Of  my  past  romps  and  plays, 

Until  my  thoughts  went  back  again 
To  dead  old  Christmas  days. 

December,  1902. 


A    COLON    PAY-DAY  INCIDENT.* 

Miss  KATE. 

Mista !  whe'  de  dime  you  owe  me  ? — 

Jus'  gimme  me  money,  I  say! 
S'  'elp  me  God  ef  you  no  pay  me 

I  wi'  tek  you  a  Jail  dis  day ! 
Den  pay  me  'fo'  I  raise  one  row 

So  mek  Policia  come : 
Dis  long,  long  time  you  owe  me  now — 

You  tek  me  money  buy  Rum! 

JOHNSON. 

Le'  go  me  shut,  I  say,  Miss  Kate! 
Or  else  I  wi'  chop  you,  you  know! 


*  Dramatic  scene  between  Miss  Kate,  the  Ginger 
Beer  and  Bun  Seller,  and  her  debtor,  Jeremiah  John- 
son, who  has  just  received  his  pay  from  the  Pay  Car. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  2Ii 

Me  no  been  ax  you,  gall,  fe  wait 
Nex'  Pay-Day  me  pay  you,  no? 

Miss  KATE. 

God  blind  me  I  not  gwine  wait  at  all! 

For  promise  can't  bwile  de  pot; 
Jus'  pay  me  now  befo'  I  call 

De  Constab  f  e  mek  you  trot  !  — 
You  ebba  see  me  trial,  eh  ? 

Him  well  nyam  me  sinting  done, 
And  now  de  brute  him  no  wan'  fe  pay 

Fe  me  Ginger  Beer  an'  Bun!  — 
You  teefin  niggah  !  You  well  an'  cheat  !  — 

JOHNSON. 

Jus'  mind  how  you  talks  to  me  now! 

I  wi'  lick  you  'prawlin*  in  a  de  'treet, 
So  mek  you  go  bawl  like  cow. 

Miss  KATE. 

Hi  !  man,  cho  !  de  fight  you  wan'  fight  ? 

Mek  I  fetch  "grass"  bottle  fuss!— 
No  'tinkin'  shame  me  can't  seek  me  right 

Widout  me  get  beatin'  and  cuss? 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  CROWD. 

Dat  'nough  now!  —  no  lick  him  no  mo'! 
You  wi'  go  a  "Cage"  'fo'  you  done; 


22  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Cho !  you  no  hear  Policia  de  blow  ? — 
Get  up,  you  chupids,  so  run. 


A   COLON    SUNSET. 

Like  forest-fires,  illuming,  far  and  wide, 

Some  sylvan  scene  and  desert  leagues  away, 
Last  evening  shone,  all  radiant  on  the  tide, 

The  last  expiring  embers  of  the  day! 
Soft   clouds   of   crimson,    floating   down   the 

West, 
With  glory  crowned  the  distant  bluffs  and 

high; 

All  flushed  and  dreamy  sank  the  day  to  rest 
In  twilight's  arm  outstretched  athwart  the 

sky. 

Yon  "Toro  Point,"  that  skirts  the  watery  way, 
With    soft    suffusion    'neath    the    Heavens 

glowed ; 

What  wondrous  hues  reflected  o'er  the  Bay 
As  Night  came  stealing  up  the  starry  road! 
Calm  was  the  eve — peace  brooded  on 

the  deep; 

The  stars,  all  shining,  warned  the  hour 
of  sleep. 

April,  1893. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  2$ 

THE  DREDGES. 

Oh,  ye  Dredges  leap 

From  your  long,  long  sleep ! — 

Awaken,  nor  dream  ye  again, 
Till  your  work  is  done — 
Gained  your  homeward  run, — 

The  glorious  task  of  men! 

Awake  from  the  wreck 
Of  the  years,  and  deck 

Ye  with  triumphs  all  fresh  and  new! 
Like  cormorants  dash 
In  the  stream  with  a  splash, 

For  the  prey  that  awaiteth  you. 

Let  the  forests  ring 

With  your  clink-clank-clink — 

Oh,  we  long  for  that  old  refrain! 
Let  your  monster  scoops, 
That  the  wild  vine  loops,       , 

Swing  merrily  'round  their  chain. 

On — on,  nor  relent 
Till  the  bonds  are  rent, 

And  the  chivalrous  deed  is  done! 
Till  Atlantic  rear 
A  triumphant  cheer 

For  his  bride,  the  Pacific,  won. 

Then  the  waves  will  prance, 
And  carouse  and  dance, 


24  PANAMA   SONGS. 

As  the  stately  ships  line  the  Bay; 
While  foremost,  elate, 
'Mongst  the  Nations  great, 

The  U.  S.  in  gorgeous  array. 

November,  1903. 


AN  INVIERNO   REVERY. 

How  switly  come  the  drear  Invierno  days! 

When,  lo !  the  tropic  lluvias  descend, 
And  mists  grow  thick  athwart  the  arching 
ways, 

And  threatening  rain-clouds  bend. 

Within  their   caves  the  balmy   Trade-Winds 

rest; 
The  sweet   Verano  days  have  spent  their 

sum; 

The  waves  are  pillowed  on  the  Ocean's  breast, 
And  broad  Caribbean's  dumb. 

What  fearful  silence  broods  upon  the  deep, 
Filling  my  soul  with  spells  akin  to  pain! 

I  all  but  sit  and  sigh  and  mourn  and  weep 
While  I  explore  the  main; 

For  in  the  stillness  rapt,  I  dream  and  muse 
Of  days  long  buried  in  the  faded  past. 

Till,  faint  and  dim,  like  swift  dissolving  views, 
Before  me  crowd,  at  last, 


PANAMA   SONGS.  25 

Visions  of  Love,   once  beings   of  form  and 
speech, 

But  spirits  now  inhabiting  the  skies ; 
Alas!  alas!  the  tender  voice  of  each 

Those  dear  departed  ties 

Bursts  o'er  my  spirit  in  the  stilly  air 

Like  sweet  seraphic  melodies  from  high ! 

ii  catch  the  strain,  and  intercept  the  tear 
That  lurks  within  mine  eye. 

September,  1893. 

OUR  CLUB. 

Say,  lads,  Oh,  what's  gone  wrong 
With  that  dear  old  Club  of  ours  ? 
»Will  ye  see  her  droop  through  the  Seasons 

long, 

And  her  glory  fade  like  the  flowers, 
Nor  heave  one  sigh' 
As  ye  pass  her  by, 
That  once  beguiled  the  hours? 

Oh,  desolate  abode! — 

Come,  lads,  uplift  the  crumbling  pile! 
Shall  the  Summer  come  with  her  garnered  load 
Of  flowers  that  bloom  and  smile, 
Without  one  more 
Sweet  Chaplet  o'er 
Her  portals  as  erewhile? 


26  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Hushed  is  she  now  and  still ; 

Dispersed  the  merry  band  and  gone : 
No  more  the  voice  of  the  music  shrill 
Streams  through  her  Halls  forlorn: 
The  Ballad  is  dead, 
And  the  mirth  has  fled 
From  our  dear  "Club-Colon." 

October,  1893. 


CHRISTINA,    THE   MAD   GIRL.* 

Senor,  I  am  not  mad! 

Why  wouldst  thou  deem  me  so? 
Because  thou  seest  me  scant'ly  clad, 

And  indigent  and  low  ? — 
Dios  me  libre,  Senor! 

In  sooth,  Senor,  I  feign: — 

I  have  but  lost  my  way 
In  the  labyrinth  of  my  brain, 

Wherein  my  senses  stray — 
Hi!   Que  es  esof — musical 
• 

List  to  the  Musical 

I'll  put  my  bundle  down 
And  dance  for  you  the  Cunibia, 

As  they  dance  it  in  my  town, 
Por  un  real,  Senor! 


*A  familiar  figure  about  the  streets  of  Colon. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  2? 

I  can  read,  too  Senor: 

Here's  my  Breviary! — 
And  count  my  Rosary,  too,  Senor, 

And  sing  my  Ave  Mary 
'Mejor  que  Udf  Senor! 

What  sayest  thou  now,  Senor *?\ 

I've  sung  my  Ave  well, 
And  read  my  Santa  Biblia  o'er; 

For  I  am  no  infidel — 
'Diga,  Senor! — soy  local 

I  am  not  mad,  I  swear ! 

Hi !  see,  the  crowd  gathers ! 
For  the  mummers  are  passing  there 

With  their  painted  masks  and  feathers; 
Y  me  voy  a  verlas! — adios! 

November,  1893. 


COLON   LIGHT   HOUSE   TO    POINT 
TORO  LIGHT   HOUSE. 

Hello!  my  friend,  across  the  Bay — 
You  that  lure  the  ships  to  the  strand; 

That  flirt  with  the  mariners,  so  they  say, 
With  the  flash  of  your  orb  from  land 

If  you  don't  quit  a-cutting  your  eye  at  me, 

v    You  prodigal  charge  for  a  light, 


28  PANAMA   SONGS. 

And  a-winkin'  and  blinkin'  all  night  at  me, 
There's  bound  to  be  bloodshed  and  fight! 

How  came  you,  Sir,  on  yonder  Point? 

And  what  is  your  mission? — Oh,  speak! — 
If  you  can  without  winkin'  your  eye  out  o' 
joint — 

Are  you  merely  the  child  of  a  freak  ? 
Be  you  Christopher's  ghost  I  see? 

Oh,  you  Brobdignagian  pile! 
Go  tend  to  the  toros:  you  can't  shine  with  me : 

I'm  Lord  of  this  sea  and  Isle. 

That's  what  I  am,  you  parvenu ! 

That's  what  I'll  be  to  the  end; 
So,  pack  up  your  traps,  and  be  off,  and  quick, 
too, 

My  blinky-eyed,  sleepy-head  friend ; 
For  the  people  say  you've  no  right  here — 

The  neighbors  protest,  so  do  I! 
Unwelcomed  you  came,  like  a  dreaded  night- 
mare— 

So,  good-riddance  to  you,  and  good-bye. 

November,  1893. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  29 

A  SUNDAY  SYMPHONY. 

Oh,  those  parrots! — how  they  both  yell 

All  day  long  above  my  head! 
Hear  the  ringing  of  that  church  bell! — 

Loud  enough  to  wake  the  dead. 
Now  the  Loros  start  a-singing, 

And  the  peacock's  shriek  is  heard — 
Soon  you'll  hear  a  gun-shot  ringing 

Through  the  air  to  down  a  bird ! 

Hear  that  tricycle  above  me, 

Pounding  on  the  attic  floor! 
And  the  "kid"  that's  riding,  how  he 

Screams  till  all  his  throat  is  sore! 
I  am  reading — what  I'm  reading 

I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can  tell, 
For  the  tricycle  that's  wheeling 

O'er  my  aching  head  like — well, 

Now  my  "kids"  take  up  the  chorus, 

And  the  noises  swell  to  bad ! — 
Parrots,  tricycle — the  whole  house 

And  the  children  drive  me  mad! — 
This  is  how  I  spend  my  Sundays — 

Talk  about  your  "Bedlams  Loose!" 
This  one  takes  the  palm  by  long  ways — 

Oh!  my  head — the  noise,  the  deuce. 

March,  1894. 


3O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

ARCHITECTURAL'. 
(To  I.  L.  M.) 

Say,  when  are  you  going  to  finish  that  house 
That  stands  by  the  track  line  so  near — 

That  once  Jackson-famous  old  "Boston  Ice 

House," 
That  sold  ice  to  the  thousands  down  here? 

O,  when  will  you  finish,  for  heaven's  sake  say  ? 

I  long  for  some  sparkling  Old  Mumm; 
But  it  seems  to  me,  Sir,  as  I  pass  every  day, 

The  "Wetting-tide"  never  will  come! 

For  each  day  something  new — an  improvement 

or  two — 

Some  new  work  or  other  begun — 
Greet  mine  eyes  as  I  raise  them  the  structure 

to  view; 
But  the  answer  comes  back,  "Not  yet  done!" 

So,    pray   let   me    ask,    have   you    any   new 

schemes  ? — 

More  filigree  work  'round  the  Gable? 
You  soon  will  be  wanting  some  strong,  heavy 

beams; 
For  the  house  grows  above  quite  unable! 

So,  let  me  exHort  you  to  finish"  tfie  Bam ; 
For,  I  swear,  all  top-heavy  she's  getting! 


PANAMA   SONGS.  3!; 

Just  give  her  a  coat  of  the  best  paint  and 

warn 

All  your  friends  to  come  'round  to  t.Ji*  "Wet- 
ting." 

March,  1894. 

RETRENCHMENT. 

The  impending  blow,  that  hath  fallen  at  last, 

Hath  my  old-time  stipend  sundered! 
I  feel  the  "cut"  of  the  ten-per-cent.  blast 

On  my  three  score  pesos  and  hundred! 
I'll  have  to  do  some  "home  cutting"  too, 

To  the  tune  of  sixteen  gold  dollars : 
Eat  one  meal  a  day  till  they  raise  my  pay — 

Wash  my  own  clothes,  my  cuffs  and  my 
collars, 

July,  1894.  *t 


THEY'VE    GOT    ME    HOOKED. 

They've    got    me    hooked — they've    got    me 
booked 

To  the  lass  across  the  way; 
They've  got  my  heart  a-thumping  so, 

I  can't  hear  what  they  say! 
They've  got  a  "case"  against  me, 

And  they're  looking  for  the  dart — 


32  PANAMA   SONGS. 

They're  bringing  Doctor  Roentgen's  Hays 
To  navigate  my  heart! 

But  it's  just  like  folks  in  Colon : 

They  know  a  thing  or  two! — 
Can  tell  you  more  about  yourself 

Than  you  ever  dreamt  or  knew : 
They  get  it  straight  from  Tom  Eaves — 

Have  your  ear-strings  never  rung? 
And  all  because  there  are  no  laws 

To  amputate  a  tongue ! 

They've  got  it  dead,  I'm  going  to  wed ; 

And  I  wish  they  hadn't  now; 
For  they'll  find  me  'commodating 

In  a  hell-split,  firing  row! 
They've  got  me  alj  a-thinking; 

For  I  want  to  know — don't  you  ? 
If  to  chin  a  "boofer  lady"  means 

To  work  the  Rule  o'  Two? 

But  it's  just  like  folks  in  Colon: 

They're  bound  to  talk  or  die ; 
And  I'm  thinking,  Sir,  it's  part  of  their 

Anatomies  to — lie! 
They've  worked  this  Rule  o'  Two,  Sir, 

Till  my  Muse's  ears  have  rung! 
And  all  because  there  are  no  laws 

To  amputate  a  tongue. 

May,  1896. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  33 

SOME  COLON  CONCLUSIONS. 
(Air,  Killaloo.) 

If  you'd  have  of  truths  a  dose, 
I  could  give  you,  Sir,  a  gross ; 

For  I've  seen  the  gamut  rise  and  topple 

over — 

I  could  tell  you  things,  my  friend, 
That  would  start  your  hairs  on  end — 

They're  rougher  than  the  passage  o'er  to 
Dover ! 

But  the  reason  of  this  Rhyme 
Is  to  sing  of  present  time — 

To  leave  the  dead  Past  buried  for  a  minute — 
Just  to  tell  you,  one  by  one, 
Some  conclusions  of  Colon — 

Your  wise  men  from  the  East,  Sir,  are  not 
in  it! 

~»  r 

The  first  conclusion  is, 

If  a  damsel  you  should  quiz 

As  you  meet  her  in  the  moonlight  with  her 

mother ; 

Just  as  sure  as  eggs  are  eggs — 
With  the  art  of  Silas  Wegg(s)— 

They'll  swear  you  must  be  sweet  on  one  an- 
other! 

Which  conclusion,  I  must  tell 
Is  another  name  for — well, 


34  PANAMA    SONGS. 

It  rhymes  with  "eye"  and  ""sigh" ;  and,  by 

the  by,  Sir, 

It's  a  case  of  Verbum  sat, 
With  a  bow  drawn  long  as — that, 
To  flaunt  the  Ninth  Commandment  in  dis- 
guise, Sir! 

The  second  is,  I  ween, 

Cause  of  many  a  home-made  scene, 

Of  which  I've  had,  Oh,  Lord,  a  dose  ap- 
palling ! 

It's  a  fight  to  go  to  Lodge — 
Thinks  your  wife  'tis  just  a  dodge 

For  a  time  out  with  the  boys  until  the  morn- 
ing. 

Why  you  can't  go  to  a  bar 
E'en  to  buy  you  a  cigar, 

Or  stop  and  with  the  barman  have  a  laugh- 
ter; 

But,  as  one  and  one  make  two, 
They'll  have  something  up  'gainst  you: 
A  cocktail  or  a  Scotch  they'll  swear  you're 
after! 

When  you  come  back  to  Colon, 
After  your  vacation's  done, 

And  from  the  Press  you  get  no  "Personal 

Mention" ; 
Oh,  you'll  kick  and  swear  and  fuss — 


PANAMA   SONGS.  35 

Say,  each  editor  is  a  cuss, 

And  conclude,  for  sure,  the  slight  was  of  in- 
tention. 

I've  conclusions  by  the  score; 
But  my  Muse's  throat  is  sore, 

Or  else  this  song  I'd  keep  up  for  a  whole 

week! 

So,  I'll  only  add  to-day, 
My  Conclusion,  by  the  way, 

I've  never  struck  a  place  like  this  for  Logic. 

June,  1896. 

THE   AFRICANOS. 

Did  you  see  those  Africanos 

Out  the  "Castle  Eden"  pour, 
With  their  pantaloons  of  gingham, 

And  their  shirt-tails  out  o'  door?  < 

Didn't  you  see  them? — What  a  gang,  Sir, 

Each  a  tin  trunk  and  a  straw,* 
And — I'd  blush  to  tell  you,  hombrt, 

All  the  funny  sights  I  saw! 

Some  wore  wrappers;  some  wore  breeches — 
Some  had  gambled  all  their  "wears;" 

Some  wore  just  what  Nature' d  wove  them 
In  the  deft  loom  of  the  years! 

*  Straw  mat. 


36  PANAMA   SONGS. 

They  were  lined  off — every  man,  Sir! — 

Pobrecitos,  what  a  crew! — 
Tore  the  Medical  Profession — 

Whole  anatomies  in  view! 

It  was,  "Muzza!"— it  was  "Johnson!" 
It  was,  "Chooko!"  step  this  way — 

Have  your  carcasses  examined 
By  the  doctors  of  the  Bay ! 

It  was  "Joseph!"— it  was  "Sambo!"— 
It  was  "Samuel!"— "MacBain!" 

Till  the  pobre  Africanos 

Were  all  huddled  in  the  train— 

Some  a-dreaming  of  their  mothers 

In  dear  Afric  far  away! 
Some  a-thinking  of  the  digging 

Of  the  Isthmus'  Highway — 

Some  a-thinking  of  the  "Eden," 

And  the  engineer,  and  how 
With  a  red-hot  poker  he,  Sir, 

Quelled  their  contumacious  row'! 

But  they've  come  amongst  us,  strangers ; 

Let  us  take  them  by  the  hand — 
Whisper,  "Johnson,  Muzza,  welcome 

To  this  hospitable  land." 

December,  1896. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  37 

THE  TRADE  WINDS  AND  OLB 

PLUVIUS. 
(After  Kipling.) 

"What  are  ye  Trade  Winds  blowin'  for?" 
Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 
"To  run  you  out,  to  run  you  out," 
The  Balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 
"What  makes  ye  'owl  so  loud,  so  loud?" 
Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 
"To  warn  you,  Mister  Pluvius, 
To  'ide  your  bloomin'  'ead!" 
For,  we're  tunin'  of  our  Trumpets — 
We're  goin'  to  'ave  our  spell ; 
We're  blowin'  of  your  fevers, 
Mister  Pluvius  to — well, 
We've  took  of  our  Galoches  off — 
Umbrellas,  gone  to  'ell! — 
We're  goin'   to  blow  our  Trumpets  till  the 
mornin', 

"What  makes  the  Palm  Trees  wave  so  'ard?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

"The  touch  of  us,  the  touch  of  us," 

The  Balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

"What  makes  'em  bend  so  low,  so  low?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

They're  waving  you  their  farewells,  Sir, 

The  Balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 


38  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Oh!  they're  'appy  in  the  sunshine — 

They're  'appy  rid  o'  you! 

They're  shakin'  off  their  mackintosh — 

They've  'ad  enough  o'  you! 

They're  throwin'  down  their  blossoms 

In  the  moonlight  and  the  dew, 

For  the  little  children's  aprons  in  the  mornin'. 

"What  makes  the  Frangipani  bloom?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

"Their  love  of  us,  their  love  of  us," 

The  balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

"What  makes  'em  smell  so  sweet,  so  sweet?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

"We've  kissed  'em  with  the  breath  of  us," 

The  Balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

Oh,  they're  pourin'  of  their  essence 

O'er  the  poisonous  Lagoons! 

They're  sending  of  their  sweetness 

To  the  Back  Swamps  of  the  Coons — 

They're  fallin'  on  the  pavements 

For  whoever  wants  o'  boons ; 

And  the  children  will  be  'appy  in  the  mornin'. 

"What  are  Christ-Church  Bells  ringin'  for?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

Tis  New  Year,  Sir,  'tis  New  Year,  Sir, 

The  balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

"What  makes  'em  sound  so  sad,  so  sad?" 

Said  PJuvius-on-Parade. 

"Their  last  year's  song  they're  singin',  Sir," 


PANAMA   SONGS.  39 

The  balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

Oh!  they're  ringin'  all  a  blessin' 

'Fore  the  passin'  of  their  rhymes ; 

They're  weepin'  sad  an'  sorry,  Sir, 

Those  comrades  of  old  times — 

They're  tellin'  soon  they're  cuttin'  them 

For  other  bells,  called  chimes — 

They're  biddin'  you  good-bye  this  New  Year's 


"What  are  the  sea- waves  shoutin'  for?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

"To  welcome  us,  to  welcome  us," 

The  balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

What  makes  'em  look  so  white,  so  white?" 

Said  Pluvius-on-Parade. 

They're  decked  out  for  your  funeral, 

The  balmy  Trade  Winds  said. 

Oh,  they're  'appy  you  are  goin'  !— 

They  are  marchin'  you  away! 

They're  singin'  songs  o'  burial 

For  you,  my  frien',  to-day! — 

They're  tellin'  of  the  letters 

From  our  Loves  of  many  a  Bay — 

.They're  goin'  to  make  us  'appy  in  the  mornin*. 

December,  1896. 


4O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  RAINS  ARE  FALLING. 

(Morning.) 

The  rains  are  falling — 

The  heat's  appalling! 
The  butterflies  are  winging  for  the  West; 

All  the  waves  are  rocked  to  sleep 

On  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 
And  the  salams  of  the  Palm  trees  are  at  rest. 

The  rains  are  falling; 

The  clouds  are  thralling 
The  Monarch  of  the  morn  a-down  the  Bay: 

All  the  hills  are  robed  in  mists 

Deep  as  moltened  amethysts, 
And  the  rain-clouds,  all  a-swif tly,  dim  the  day ! 

(Night.) 

The  rains  are  falling; 

The  night  is  walling 
With  battlements  of  clouds  the  ether  heights! 

All  the  frogs  are  croaking  loud, 

And  the  moon  hath  donned  a  cloud — 
Oh,  these  weary,  weary,  weary  rainy  nights ! 

The  rains  are  falling — 
My  soul  is  calling 

For  the  salams  of  the  Palm  Trees,  to  tfie  sea — 
For  the  fellowship  I  win 


PANAMA   SONGS.  41 

From  the  thunder  and  the  din — 
From  the  music  of  the  billows'  jubilee. 

August,  1897. 


'ERE'S   TO   US. 

A  Colon  Vignette.) 

(After  Kipling.) 

We've  fought,  O,  many  a  battle  in  our  day; 
An'  some  was  red  'ot  fights,  and  some  was 

not! 
.We're  a  bloomin'  set  of  Atkinses,  they  say — 

Of  Atkinses  there  is  no  finer  lot! 
We've    quarrelled    over    Dollars,    Cents    and 

Dimes ; 

We've  licked  the  Africs  silly  in  a  fray! 
We've  mixed  up  ideas  with  ideals,  at  times, 
And  we've  played  the  "cat  and  banjo"  in 
our  way. 

So,  'ere's  to  us,  mi  amigo, 

Oh,  the  Lawd,  Gawd,  keep  us  free 
From  this  sloshing,  worse  than  Fuzzy 

Gave  the  British  "Infantree!" 
We've  'ad  enough  o'  fightin', 

So,  let's  call  the  bargain  square, 
For  the  'olidays  are  comin', 

An*  the  Christmas  an'  New  Year. 


42  PANAMA   SONGS. 

We've  done  some  things  we  'adn't  ought  to 

do; 
But  Christ  is  Christ  to  right  the  wrongs  o' 

men! 
And  Gawd  is  Gawd  for  gentile  and  for  jew, 

And  Time — the  foremost  soldier  in  the  en' ! 
Gawd!  we're  'ell,  we  uns:  we  never  sees  the 

right; 
For  Right  is  just  where  Wrong  'ad  ought 

to  be! 
Gawd! — we're  fools,  we  uns;  but  some  day 

know  we  might, 

*  The   friend   that's   friend,   and   who's   the 
enemy ! 

So  'ere's  to  us,  mi  amigo, 

And  the  friends  which  are  astray; 
If  we  'adn't  been  so  thin-skinned, 

We'd  'a'  'ad  'em  all  to-day! 
But  Give  and  Take  isn't  Gospel 

With  a  bloomin'  crowd  like  we: 
It's  just  sloshing  at  our  neighbors 

Till,  at  last,  we  don't:  agree. 

We  'aven't  got  no  peace  'ere  of  our  own : 
We're  'acking  at  each  other  all  day  long; 

And  when  we've  done  a  'acking  at  the  bone, 
We  generally  winds  'er  up  in  song! — 

We  never  shirks  a  scrap,  it  seems,  no  'ow ; 
We  rushes  in  the  fight  and  don't  gets  done! 


PANAMA    SONGS.  43 

We're  all  'ot  'eaded,  'asty  in  a  row, 
And  generally  'unts  one  when  there's  none. 

Then  'ere's  to  us,  mi  amigo, 

And  'ere's  to  'ands  all  round; 
For  it's  six  days  Chagres  fever 

And  the  seventh  day  under  ground. 
And  'ere's  to  us,  mi  amigo, 

And  the  peace  that  is  to  be, 
You  big  bull  'eaded  fellow — 

You,  amigo,  all  and  me. 

November,   1897. 


THERE'S  A  MAN  ABOUT  THE  TOWN. 

There's  a  man  about  the  town — 

Hunt  him  down! — hunt  him  down! 
With  a  Crow-bar,  or  a  Car-pin,  or  a  Cane; 

For  he  thinks  the  earth  and  sea 

All  are  his — on  you  and  me 
He  can  look  down  with  a  studied,  cold  disdain ! 

There's  a  man  about  the  town — 

Run  him  down! — run  him  down! 
With  a  Locomotive,  Bus  or  Funeral  train! — 

Oh !  it  doesn't  matter  which : 

A  Road  Engine  or  a  Switch 
Will  dispatch  him  to  the  warmest  clime  amain ! 


44  PANAMA   SONGS. 

There's  a  man  about  the  town — 
Nail  him  down! — screw  him  down, 

That  no  breath  of  air  his  six-f .  t  house  retain ! 
Chant  the  usual  "Dust  to  dust," 
"Earth  to  earth" — then  swiftly  thrust — 

Thrust  the  beggar  where  he'll  evermore  remain. 

Then,  we'll  have  him  out  of  town — 

Lower  him  down — gently  down, 
Safe  on  yonder  Hill  a-dreaming  in  the  rain, 

'Neath  the  blackest  sort  of  skies — 

Oh!  let's  hope  the  lullabies 
Of  the  Saurians  will  not  Lazarus  him  again. 

January,  1901. 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    ELECTRIC 
LIGHT. 

I'm  an  independent  gentleman: 

I  come  just  when  I  please! 
*Tis  my  delight  to  take  my  flight 

Ere  dinner  hath  reached  to  cheese. 

Then,  it's  all  hands  groping  in  the  darkness, 
And  a-swearing  for  no  good ! — 


PANAMA   SONGS.  45 

Oh,  the  hunting  scene  for  kerosene 
To  light  up  the  neighborhood. 

I'm  an  independent  gentleman, 

With  faults  as  many  as  wires — 
My  Dynamo  runs  down  so  low, 

My  life-light  soon  expire". 

Then  it's  rushing  to  the  Street-Transformers — 
It's  a  hunting  the  faults  all  'round : 

They  burn  no  Coal,  and,  'pon  my  soul, 
That's  where  the  trouble  is  found. 

When  the  West  dons  her  dream-gold  tiara — 

When  Evening's  almost  Day, 
'Tis  then  I  vie  with  the  sun  on  high! 

But  at  dusk — well,  you  know  my  way! 

But  it's  all  the  same  to  me,  my  friends — 

It's  all  the  same  to  me! 

You  don't  like  my  way? — good-night — good 
day: 

I'm  Mister  Monopoly. 

February,  1901. 


46  PANAMA   SONGS. 

A    SONG    OF    THE    WEATHER. 

The  reefs  are  barren,  and  the  tide  is  low — 
What  means  this  strange  digression 

Of  Season,  of  Winds,  of  the  Waters'  flow? — 
Are  the  Weather  clerks  in  session? 

Are  the  elements,  mutinous,  changeful,  queer, 
Plotting   vengeance  all   together? — 

Ahoarding  up  rain-clouds,  thunders'  blare, 
For  an  onslaught  on  Dry  Weather  ? 

For  the  waves  are  dumb,  and  the  skies  are 
gray — 

The  Sunsets  have  lost  their  roses; 
The  fisherman's  boat,  in  the  far-out  Bay, 

On  the  peaceful  sea  reposes. 

E'en  the  Palm  trees  droop  as  if  grieving  o'er 
The  Trade  Winds  grave  omission! 

And  the  wave-desolated  strand  seems  sore 
At  the  billows'  indecision. 

But  like  as  the  weather  are  all  things  here: 

Fitful,  inconstant — deluding — 
Like  the  veriest  flower  'neath  whose  dream- 
folds  fair 

Some  poisonous  germ  lies  brooding! 

So,  hand-in-hand,  all  the  weather-clerks  go 
A-weaving — I  count  it  treason — 


PANAMA    SONGS.  47 

From  moon-wrought  sheen  and  silver  stars' 

glow, 
The  rains  for  the  next  Wet  Season. 

February,   1901. 


THE   DATE   TREE   PALM 

Twas  but  a  lowly  Date-Tree  Palm, 

That  lived  its  life  among  the  statelier  trees, 

A-dreaming   dreams   of  peace,   white- winged 

and  calm, 
Beside  the  lonely  seas. 

And  Time  came,  and  time,  as  time  will,  went 
'Midst  songs  of  stars  and  litanies  of  winds; 

And  though   each  day   it  sicklier  grew  and 

bent, 
It  recked  not  of  designs, 

Nor  dreamt  it  of  such  sudden  end, 

'Gainst  which  the  very  winds  did  wail — 
complain, — 

E'en  all  the  billows  by  the  gray-beach  bend 
Protested  all  in  vain. 

For  two  score  years  and  gone 

It  saw  the  sun  dip  down  to  wed  the  sea; 


48  PANAMA   SONGS. 

But  'cause  it  strewed  seared  blossoms  on  the 

lawn, 
Death  was  the  penalty 

It  reaped  just  as  the  sun  burst  forth 

And  all  the  waters  with  the  morn  did  glow — 

Thus  two  score  years  of  Nature's  growth 
A  wanton  hand  laid  low. 


REVIEWAL. 

'Tis  Evening — our  task  of  day  is  done : 

The  Clerks  have  left  their  Offices— 'tis  five! 

The  West  is  all  a-glow  with  setting  Sun ; 
The  Reading  Room  with  readers  is  alive. 

Along  the  Beach-walk  sweep  the  strollers  by! 

The  children  laugh  and  prattle  on  the  sands ; 
And  rainbow-tinted  ribbons  flaunt  yards  high, 

While  Lovers  tell  their  hearts'-tales,  squeez- 
ing hands. 

Full  shrill  hath  blown  the  Cacho's  evening 
blast! 

Adown  the  tracks  the  weary  Artisans  go; 
Within  the  Washington  the  Boys  are  massed, 

And  Pascal-Cocktails  on  the  Counters  flow. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  49 

The  shadows  fall — night  creeps  on  stealthily; 
The  rain-clouds  gather  thick  athwart  the 

sky! 

The  Toro  Light  House  blushes  fitfully— 
The   billows   sob;   the   night-winds,    deep- 
mouthed,  sigh. 

Down  swoops  the  rain,  and  darkness  veils  the 

land! 
The  palm-trees  shake  and   shiver  on   the 

lawn; 

And  all  is  black  beyond  the  boisterous  strand, 
And  all  outside  is  dreary  and  forlorn. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Rumor  on  the  winds; 

I  hear  the  cry  of  Gossip  on  the  deep — 
The  wild  waves  sing  full  lust'ly  of  designs — 

Of  malices  that  life-long  comrades  keep. 

"~ '-  ^ 

I  peer  my  head  outside  my  cottage-door — 
The  rains  have  ceased;  the  night's  grown 

hot  as — well, 
I  don  my  hat,  and  sally  forth  to  bore 

Sorre  friends  within  the  neighborhood  that 
dwell. 

We  talk  of  Church,  where  so  few  white  folks 

go> 

And  wonder  why  this  element  keeps  'loof: 
Are  God  and  Christ  not  One  in  all  men's  woe? 


5O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Can  Christian  folks  not  worship  'neath  one 
roof? 

We  talk  of  foreign  lands  across  the  seas — 
Of  folks  to  whom  the  Isthmus  had  grown 

"cold"; 

Of  things  domestic — of  those  Evening  Teas, 
And  quote  from  all  the  Gossips,  new  and 
old! 

Gossips  that  only  tongues  attuned  to  lies, 
And  hearts  all  reckless  of  Commandment 

Nine, 

Delight  to  traffic  in,  and  things  disguise — 
Condemn  as  faults — faults  theirs  and  yours 
and  mine. 

October,  1901. 


A   VERANO    ODE. 

Thou  comest  back  again, 

Sweet    Summer,   a-wooing   the   North-east 

blast — 
With  glad  rejoicings  o'er  the  blustering  main 

Thou  comest  back,  at  last, 


PANAMA   SONGS.  5 1! 

Fresh  from  they  wanderings  long ! 

A  thousand  voices  greet  thee,  and  the  land 
Lifts  up  her  welcome  in  a  wild- wave  Song, 

That  melts  upon  the  strand. 

All  things  from  out  their  thrall — 

The  merry  winds  that  rock  the  azure  sea, 

The  frangipanis,  in  high  festival — 
Awake  to  welcome  thee! 

There's  gladness  in  thy  track 

And  sun-lit  visions  borne  upon  thy  wings, 
And  sadness  too,  vain  longings  and  the  rack 

That  Time,  unconscious,  brings. 

Thou  comest  back  with  heaven  flushed — 
Ravishing  Sunsets  crimsoning  all  the  Isle ! — 

With    nights    star- jeweled,    and    wave-songs 

unhushed, 
Thou  comest  back  a-while. 

Verano,  the  winds  are  crying : 
Their  deep-toned  anthems  sweeping  o'er  the 

sea, 

The  rush  of  waters  and  the  palm-trees'  sigh- 
ing, 
Sing  of  the  Past  to  me. 

February,  1902, 


52  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE   "PANTHER-BOYS." 

I've  been  asked  if  the  war  is  ended — 
I've  told  them,  'The  struggle  is  done!" 

For  the  "Boys,"  that  the  Road  defended,— 
Yester  evening  left  Colon. 

They  sailed  when  the  West  was  dreaming — 
When  the  Sun  kissed  the  day  adieu ! 

And  the  girls  on  shore  were  grieving 
For  the  jolly  Khaki-crew. 

They've  gone,  yet  they  scarce  had  landed ; 

Oh !  the  Dock  where  they  camped  is  dumb, 
And  the  Armored  Car's  disbanded, 

For  the  days  of  peace  have  come. 

They've  gone — some  of  new  Loves  dream- 
ing— 

Others,  haply,  of  the  old  Loves  true; 
Some  a-thinking  of  the  war,  while  we  sing 

Hosannas  that  the  conflict's  through. 

They  were  here  when  the  days  were  clouded, 
And  the  nights  all  whelmed  with  rue! 

And  the  town  each  hour  was  crowded 
With  rumors  of  some  crisis  new. 

They've  gone — though  the  "Panther"  wander 
From  Colon  unto  furthermost  Bays, — 


PANAMA   SONGS.  53 

In  our  hearts  her  brave  Commander 
And  her  "boys"  will  live  always. 

Then,  it's  Good-bye,  Captain — and  Good-bye 

To  the  jolly  Khaki-crew! 
For  your  ship,  fair  winds  and  a  clear  sky — 

God  speed  you  o'er  the  boundless  blue. 

November,  1902. 


T£TE-A-T£TE. 

So,   you   want   to  know   'bout   Society,   my 

friend, 

In  this  land  of  perennial  row? — 
Here's  a  glass,  and  a  bottle  of  the  best  Old 

Blend; 
Take  a  seat  and  I'll  tell  you  now. 

You're  a  stranger  come  amongst  us  yester- 
day— 

You're  green  in  the  Social  Ring; 
But  you'll  find   some  Dont-believe-you-what- 

they-say, 
Who'll  tell  you  of  everything! — 


54  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Of  everybody,  what's  what  and  who's  who — 

God  help  genealogical  trees! 
They'll  paint  them  every  color,   Sir, — black 
and  blue — 

O'er  the  Cups  at  their  evening  teas! 

When  it's  "Whom  have  you  seen  since  you've 

been  down  here?" 

"Have  you  met  Mrs.  So-and-So?" — 
They'll  put  you  through  a  Catechism,  Sir,  most 

queer — 
Tell  you  things  they  know  and — don't  know! 

And  "You  mustn't  visit  So-and-So  because 
We're  out  with  the  folks  'roundjhere !" 

But  where'd  be  your  peace  if  you  didn't  heed 

the  laws 
Of  neutrality  right  down  here? 

Yet  it's  out  of  ten  the  chances  are  nine 
Come  a  day  when  we'll  cut  loose! 

Then  you  and  your  new-made  friends'll  com- 
bine 
To  roast  me  as  you  would  a  goose! 

For  that's  the  way  some  people  down  here 
Have  of  doing — I  know  too  well: 

I've  seen  it  in  the  cases  of  friends  most  dear — 
I've  seen  it,  for  I  read  and  spell. 

November,   1902. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  55 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  TIMES. 

Oh!  the  Christmas  tide  is  coming; 

And  the  times  are's  hard  as  Laws ! 
All  the  little  folks  are  humming 

Songs  of  dear  Old  Santa  Glaus. 

The  Druggists'  bills  have  just  come  in — 
Dios,  mio! — what  prices! — stars! 

For  one  prescription  of  Quinine, 
Two  dollars  or — funeral  cars! 

Then  bills  from  Butcher  and  Baker — 
From  the  Grocer  down  the  lane ; 

And  bills  from  the  Old  Shoemaker 
For  the  soles  made  new  again. — 

'Tis  bills  from  Senor  Commissary, 
And  bills  from  the  Chinese  stores; 

Tis  bills  each  month — Oh !  misery ! 

And  "Cards"  by  the  -'bunch"  and  scores! 

Oh,  those  Pay  Days  in  the  morning! 

Oh,  those  Pay  Days  in  the  noon, 
When  the  Bills  come  in  a-swarming, 

How  our  heads  begin  to  swoon! 

But  worst  of  Pay  Day  ills  we  know 

Is  the  man  who  comes  around 
With  Bills,  when  funds  are  sinking  low, 

Persecuting  us  like  a  Hound. 

December,  1902. 


56  PANAMA  SONGS. 

THE  "ACAPULCO."* 

An  Outcast  on  the  deep  am  I — 

A  vagrant-ship,  a  waif,  a  stray! 

They  will  not  have  me,  low  nor  high, 

From  Panama  to  San  Jose — 

Corinto,  nor,  perchance — Shanghai! 

And  so,  rejected  and  tabooed, 

I  sail  along  the  scornless  brine, 

A  plaything  of  the  billows'  mood — 

The  sport  and  prey  of  every  wind — 

I  drift  and  drift  upon  the  seas, 

"All  on  account  of  those  dreadful  peas!" 

From  port  to  port  and  port  I  go: 
"Rejected!"  comes  the  answer  back; 
Then  all  those  peas  begin  to  grow 

*The  Pacific  Mail  steamer  Acapulco  left  San  Fran- 
cisco on  December  20th,  1902,  bound  for  Panama,  via 
Central  American  and  Mexican  ports. 

At  Mazatlan,  a  Mexican  port,  where,  it  appears,  there 
existed  a  few  cases  of  bubonic  plague,  she  took  in  some 
684  sacks  of  peas,  on  account  of  which  she  was  detained 
in  Quarantine  at  Panama  for  eight  days,  after  the 
expiration  of  which  time  her  passengers  were  allowed 
to  land  at  Isla  de  Naos,  a  small  island  in  Panama  Bay. 
The  steamer,  however,  was  turned  back  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, January  24th,  1903,  with  all  her  cargo  on  board. 
On  the  return  voyage  she  was  refused  pratique  by  all 
the  Central  American  and  Mexican  ports  at  which  she 
called;  and  this  incident  it  was  that  inspired  the  poem, 
"Acapulco." 


PANAMA   SONGS.  57 

With  protests  rending  every  sack ; 
Adown  the  hold  the  dread-peas  bloom 
With  Mazatlans  all  white  with  rage! — 
I  wonder  what  the  morrow's  doom : 
If  port  shall  be  my  heritage, 
Or  drift  and  drift  upon  the  seas, 
"All  on  account  of  those  dreadful  peas!" 

A-weary  of  the  strife  and  war 

Of  boycotts,  'nough  to  fill  a  slate! 

I've  set  my  Compass  to  a  star 

That  beckons  from  the  "Golden  Gate." 

Of  peas  I've  strung  a  Rosary 

To  tell  my  wanderings  all  forlorn! — 

Count  ports  that  have  rejected  me — 

Perchance  I'll  have  to  round  the  Horn ! 

And  drift  and  drift  upon  new  seas, 

"All  on  account  of  those  dreadful  peas!" 


February,  1903. 


HE  JUST  COULDN'T  STAY  AWAY. 

So,  he's  come  back  here  again? 
And  he  didn't  stay  for  good, 
As  he  thought  he  would! 
But  it's  nothing  strange, 


58  PANAMA   SONGS. 

And  it's  nothing  new: 
I've  never  seen  the  man  that  could  I—- 
Have you? 
Oh!— say, 
He  just  couldn't  stay  away. 

Missed  the  old  haunts — now  didn't  he? 

And  the  Isthmian  life,  and  the  Beach, 

And  the  rythmic  speech 

Of  the  sad,  sea  waves, 

So  wondrous  sweet! 

And  he  dreamt  of  it  all  and  each 

So  fleet, 

That— say! 

He  just  couldn't  stay  away. 

Longed  for  the  Trades — our  Sunsets, 

And  the  ceaseless  Song  of  the  Palm ! 

And  the  mystic  charm 

That  binds  us  to  this  place — 

He  felt  the  sweet  spell 

Around  him  like  a  Lover's  warm 

Embrace, 

And — say, 

He  just  couldn't  stay  away. 

Yearned  to  get  back — now  didn't  He 
'Tis  an  old,  old  story,  my  friend, 
We'll  sing  to  the  end; 


PANAMA   SONGS.  59 


Full  many  a  one  've  sung  it, 

As  Time  approves  so  well : 

I,  too,  essayed  one  day  to  rend 

The  spell; 

But — say, 

I  just  couldn't  stay  away, 

February  7th,  1903. 


THAT'S  WHAT  I  AM. 

I'm  sick  and  tired  of  some  people's 

Malevolent  jabber  and  chat! 

Their  tongues  are  as  tall  as  Church  Steeples, 

And  their  mouths? — well,  I'm  coming  soon  to 
that! 

It  seems  to  me  they  want  a  damn  good  caulk- 
ing— 

Or  a  gagging,  or  a  Yale  Padlock — 

To  stop  their  daily  slanderous  leaks  of  talking ; 

Tor  their  heads  are  just  all  chock-up-full-a- 
block 

With? — you  know  what  came  when  Moses 
struck  the  Rock. 

February,  1903. 


J5O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  CRITIC  CRITICISED. 

Once  upon  an  Isthmian  time, 

There  lived  a  man — a  Wise- Acre, 

Who  posed  as  Judge  of  Lyric  Rhyme, 

And  thought  himself  a  Seneca — 

A  something  like  a  Whittaker! — 

In  sooth,  he  was  far  out  his  clime — 

His  rhetoric  he  deemed  sublime; 

And  in  the  Elocution  line, 

He'd  give  you  odds  and  beat  you  blind ! 

His  speech  was  Angel-tongued — he  read, 

Just  sweet  enough  to  wake  the  dead ! — 

He  dreamt  he  wore  Disraeli's  head, 

This  Pythagoras,  Agrippa — 

Of  critics  he  was  critica' — 

At  least  as  such  he  tried  to  be 

Without  the  Critic's  quality ; 

But  then  I  knew  just  how  it  went : 

This  critic  was  of  jealous  bent; 

And  yet  I  had  not  given  one  cent 

For  his  opinion  cynica'  ! 

I  only  knew  this  strange  creature 

Was  not  my  friend  in  lit'rature — 

He  sought  to  climb  the  heights  of  Fame  one 

night 
But  fell :  he  lost  his  cue  through  fright. 

March,  1903. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  6 1; 

KEEP  'EM  AWAY,  FOR  THE  LORD'S 
SAKE. 

[They've  gone ! — keep  'em  away,  for  the  'Lord's 

sake: 

No  use  for  them  down  here — 
They  do  no  good,  more  trouble  make 
Than  you  know,  have  any  idea — 
Keep  'em  away,  for  the  Lord's  sake! 

They    seem   to   think   they're   the   Hundred- 
Four — 

/  do  not  think  as  they : 
That  theirs  is  the  and  only  door — 
Society's  vise — 
Keep  'em  away,  for  the  Lord's  sake! 

They're  very  exclusive — they're' not  to  blame 

They're  friendly  with  but  few, 

Who  kneel  and  bow  to  them  the  same 

As  if  they  were  Jesu' — 

Keep  'em  away,  for  the  Lord's  sake! 

They  fight  with  the  Rector  of  their  Cfiurdi, 

Who's  match  for  any  two ! 

He  stands  up,  fearless,  on  his  Perch 

And  he  gives  them  Hallelu' — 

Keep  'em  away,  for  the  Lord's  sake ! 


62  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Let  'em  be  like  the  ships  that  pass  at  night 

No  more  to  meet  again! 

No  moon,  nor  star  their  voyage  to  light 

Across  the  boisterous  main — 

Keep  'em  away,  for  the  Lord's  sake! 

May,  1903- 


IN  DIALECT. 

Johnson,  you  hear  de  news  dat  come 
From  Bogota  to-day? — 
Me  frien'  it  knack  me  down  so  dum' 
Me  don'  kno'  what  fe  say! 

De  Messige  say  de  Treaty  dead — 
What  Treaty  is  me  no  kno' ! 
Exceptin'  it's  de  t'ing  Mas'  Ted 
And  Morgan  fight  'bout  so. 

But  anyhow,  me  tell  you.  say 
Dat  porro  ketch  us  now! 
An'  we  all  wi'  hav'  fe  go  away, 
For  me  really  don'  kno'  how 

We  gwine  fe  manage  at  all,  me  son, 
Widout  Canal  down  here! — 
You  soon  wi'  see  de  grass  de  run 
'Bout  'treet  an'  ebery where! 


PANAMA   SONGS.  63 

So,  fetcH  me  Ban  Box  an  me  'tick, 
An*  re'ch  me  Tin  Pan  down : 
Me  wan'  fix  up  fe  go  nex'  week 
Wid  me  female  to  Greytown. 

Fo'  what's  de  use  o'  waitin'  mo'  ? — 
Me  trousers  bruck  from  wait! — 
De  oder  day  de  t'ing  look  so 
Me  went  go  speculate ! 

Me  buy  up  nearly  all  de  lan's 
De  Rail  Road  hav'  fe  sell; 
But  now  me  wish  me  had  in  han's 
Me  money,  dat  gone  to — well, 

I's  gwine  to  Nicaragua,  John, 
Fo'  all  de  papers  say, 
The  President  at  Washington 
Gwine  dig  Canal  dat  way ! 

But  case  you  hear  say,  when  me  gone, 
De  people  change  dem  mind 
At  Bogota  'bout  poor  Colon, 
Jus'  drap  me  one  short  line, 

Fe  tell  me  say  de  sinting  fix 

At  las'  at  Bogota! 

Me  den  wi'  come  wid  shovel  and  picks 

Fe  help  dig  Panama. 


August,  1903. 


64  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  DREAM  OF  A  COLON 
SUNSHINER. 

Last  night  I  dreamt  that  Joshua  came 

To  visit  poor  Colon, 
And  tried  to  play  his  little  game 

He  worked  on  Gibeon! 

But,  'spite  of  fame  in  that  far  land, 

He  could  not  stay  our  Sun! 
For  'round  him  grouped  a  little  band 

Of  "Sunshiners-Colon." 

"Dear  children,  I  am  sore-afraid," 
Said  Josh,  "You  hold  the  key:" 

"The  Sun,  that  once  my  will  obeyed, 
No  more  stands  still  for  me !" 

"And  yet,  methought,  I'd  own  him  e'er — 

For  all  time  left  to  come — 
But,  seems,  you  folks  that  live  down  here 
Have  got  him  'neath  your  thumb!" 

"That's  what  we  have!"  said  one  wee  boy, 
Whose  head  was  crowned  v.'ith  curls — 

"And  yes,  we  fill  the  world  with  joy 
And  sunshine/'  cried  the  girls — 

"You  see,  dear  Josh,  the  time  was  when 
The  Sun  you  could  make  dim — 


PANAMA   SONGS.  65 

We  were  not  in  it,  Joshua,  then, 
But  now  we've  cornered  him !" 

We  take  him  with  us  'round  the  world — 
North,  South  and  East  and  West ! — 

Our  glorious  Banner  ne'er  is  furled — 
Sunshiners  have  no  rest!" 

We're  up  and  doing  all  the  time, 

And  cheerfully  we  roam 
About  this  town,  through  mud  and  slime, 

Sunshining  some  poor  home." 

Then  Joshua  stroked  his  hair — said  he: 

"Dear  children,  I  am  done! 
I  cannot  stop,  I  clearly  see, 

The  Sunshine  in  Colon." 

August,  1903. 


CONFESSIONAL. 

Oh,  Lord  of  all  the  Universe, 
Who  ruleth  over  land  and  sea, 

And  blessings  over  all  disperse, 

We  open,  Lord,  our  hearts  to  Theef 
5 


66  PANAMA   SONGS. 

We  are,  O  God,  but  weaklings,  all 
A-groping  through  this  thorny  land, 

Where  Vice,  temptations  several 
Beset  us,  Lord,  on  every  hand. 

When  first  we  came  here,  Lord  of  Lords, 
We  went  to  Church  in  Sun  or  Rain ; 

But  'twas  not  long  ere  all  the  chords 
Of  Good  Resolve  were  snapped  in  twain. 

We  wandered  into  evil  ways, 

And  soon,  O  Lord,  Thine  House  forgot ; 
For  all  our  nights  and  all  our  days 

Were  spent  in  things  that  profit  not : 

We  wooed,  fore'er,  the  magic  wheel, 
And  left  it  oft  without  a  cent! 

We've  drunk  and  drunk  and  drunk  until 
From  drink  we're  almost  indigent ! 

In  sooth,  O  God,  our  very  lives 

All  mammoth,  living  lies  have  been ! — 

In  every  Vice  we  have  been  Dives, 
And  Croesuses  in  every  Sin! 

We've  done,  O  Lord,  the  thousand  things 
Thou  countest  vilest  of  the  vile! 

We've  been,  O  Lord,  the  hirelings 
Of  Satan  on  this  little  Isle! 


PANAMA  SONGS.  6% 

.We've  practised  every  subterfuge 

That's  known,  O  Lord,  beneath  the  skies—* 
tWe  are  a  monument  of  huge 

Hypocrisies  and  wicked  lies! 

;We've  sought  to  wrong  the  very  men 
We  swore  eternal  friendships  to ; 

And  been,  time  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
Iscariots  while  we  played  true ! 

Our  very  souls  we've  sold  to  Debt, 
With  int'rest  Himalaya-high! — 

We  now  have  only  Hell  to  get — 
Upon  the  Brink,  O  Lord,  we  cry 

For  Mercy,  for  Thou'rt  merciful, 

And  wilt  not  turn  us  from  Thy  sight-  — 
Oh,  teach  us,  Lord,  the  Golden  Rule, 
•      And  lead  us  back  to  greater  light — 

To  Hope  and  Faith  and  Charity, 

And  all  things  goods  before  Thine  eyes — 

We  seek,  O  Lord,  Thy  clemency — 
Oh,  in  Thy  wisdom,  make  us  wise. 

Colon,  July  1 8th,  1904. 


68  PANAMA   SONGS. 

UNDER  TWO  FLAGS. 
PANAMA. 

(Panama,  November  3,  1903.) 

Last  night  I  slept  beneath  the  Banner  that 

For  years  and  years  had  flaunted  o'er  my 

head, 
And  waved  me  welcomes  in  this  land  whereat 

I  dreamt  not  of  the  wedding  of  the  Red 
And  dauntless  Azure  in  one  common  band ; 

Nathless,  I  woke  one  morn  and  found  the 

Two 
A  brotherhood  of  One,  hand  clasped  in  hand — 

The  Spartan  Sires  of  a  Republic  new,. 

Conceived  and  Mothered  by  Paternal  Wrong, 

And  years  of  stern  oppressions,  manifold ! — 
To  Panama  there  never  did  belong 

The  right  to  shape  her  destiny,  nor  mold 
Her  ideal  dream — the  Isthmian  sentiment — 

In  sweet  fulfillment,  proud  accomplishing — 
To  weld  up  Continent  and  Continent 

By  two  great  Oceans'  hands  a-joining. 

For  in  the  stormy  Councils  and  Debate, 

That  shook  the  Capital,  the  dream  was  spent ; 

But  yet,  it  seemed,  one  hope  commensurate 
Remained   for  her — right  of  self  govern- 
ment! 


PANAMA  SONGS.  69 

And  so,  it  came  to  pass  that,  on  a  night, 
Brave  Panama,  unaided  and  alone, 

Resolved  to  set  her  grievances  aright, 

And  seek  what  was,  by  heritage,  her  own, 

Before  the  just  Tribunal  of  her  arms, 

That  heaped  no  carnage,   and  diffused  no 

blood — 
So  worn  the  bird  that  laid  the  golden-charms, 

That  from  the  hearts  of  men,  that  night,  a 

flood 
Of  indignation,  passionate  and  long, 

Burst  forth  in  Vivas  to  the  Patria; 
But  to  her  sons  was  sweetest,  dearest  song : 

Viva  La  Republica  De  Panama. 

November,  1903. 


SONGS  OF  TO-DAY. 
(A  Memory  of  November,  1903.)' 

Oh,  the  Rain- Song — day  and  night  long- 
The  Sun  is  asleep  somewhere! 

Oh,  the  Bird-song,  and  the  Wind-song 
That  toys  with  the  ladies'  hair. 


7O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Oh,  the  Wave-song,  like  a  great  gong 
Sounding  far  and  wide  and  near ! 

Oh,  the  Frog-song  in  the  Swamps-strong! 
And  the  Songs  mosquitoes  rear. 

Oh,  the  Rush-song — Hurry-Up-song  !•• — 
Don't  you  hear  the  bugle's  blare? 

Oh,  the  Bus-song! — "Waited  too  long;" 
But  then  it  was  double  fare! 

Oh,  the  Ball-song — not  a  Ping-pong — 
We'd  have  had  to  face  right  square ! 

Oh,  the  Praise-song  of  a  whole  throng 
For  men  that  the  fight  did  veer ! 

Oh,  the  War-song,  and  the  talk-long 

Of  the  Orinoco-scare! 
Oh,  the  Gun-song  that  we  missed  strong 

From  the  R.  M.  Comp'ny's  Pier! 

Oh,  the  Run-song — couldn't  stop  thong — 
For  the  steamers  everywhere! — 

The  Relief-Song  of  a  whole  throng 
When  the  "Dixie"  did  appear! 

Oh,  the  Shield-Song — hammer-and-tong! — 
Every  man  thinks  he'll  get  there! 

But  the  Prize-Song  sure  will  be-long 
To  a  man  who  lives  down  here! 


PANAMA   SONGS.  £ 

Oh,  the  Gold-Song,  which  is  dead  wrong; 

But  the  Bankers  they  don't  care! — 
The  Canal-Song,  heard  in  Hong-Kong, 

And  the  Rumors  everywhere. 

Oh,  the  This-Song,  and  the  That-Song, 
Of  the  Wealth  there'll  be  down  here! 

Oh,  the  Scheme-Song,  that  folks  ding-dong 
In  your  ears  'bout  Gains  each  year. 

But  they're  all  wrong,  they  that  sing-song 
Of  the  Millions  they  will  clear : 

There's  an  old  song,  if  I  ain't  wrong, 
'Bout  the  man  who  had  his  share. 

November,  1903. 


THE  UNPOPULAR  MAN. 

I  am  not  what  some  folks  would  call, 

A  man  of  popularity, 
Because  I  am  not  prodigal, 

Like  some,  of  rank  hypocrisy! 

Wherefore  I'm  counted  e'er  in  thought 
A  chap  of  great  disparity — 

They  are  not  wrong :  I  deal  in  nought 
That  savors  of  duplicity: 


72  PANAMA   SONGg. 

I  tell  my  mind  without  reserve — 
In  me  there's  no  mendacity ! — 

Because  I'm  frank  I  don't  deserve 
What's  called  down  here — "Sincerity." 

And  yet  time  was,  an  ideal  man 
They  made  of  me  in  poesy; 

But  was  there  aught  on  ideal  plan 
In  this  unique  community? 

Where  one's  unpopular,  because 
He  stands  with  the  minority, 

Upholding  all  the  moral  laws, 
Eschewed  by  the  majority ! 

But  what  care  I  ? — I  go  my  way, 
With  head  erect,  defiantly! — 

Unmindful  of  what  people  say 
'Bout  my  unpopularity. 

For  when  we  count  the  meaning  well, 
Good  fellowship's  a  luxury, 

In  which  men  send  their  souls  to  hell, 
And  oftentimes  to — penury. 

November,  1903. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  73 


OTHER    POEMS. 


OUR  FIRST. 

His  little  life — his  brief,  soft  breathing, 

Came  like  a  dew-drop  glistening  on  a  rose — 

Perchance  he  was  a  message  past  our  reading ; 
But  God  only  knows. 

June,  1883. 


THE  MALEVOLENT. 

What!  deemest  thyself  a  man? — 'tis  cheap  to 

deem! 

And  meet  of  thy  known  ignorance  and  deep ; 
Then,  wherefore  mar  thy  wild,  delusive  dream  ? 
The  waking  would  but  leave  thee  still  asleep! 
Thou  livest  in  a  world  from  me  apart — 
Dost  traffic  in  Malice  and  plots  of  Wrong: 
I  heed,  nor  fear  the  cunning  of  thy  heart, 
Nor  all  the  mischief  of  thy  venal  tongue ! 
Thou  art  no  man;  for  man  was  framed,  'tis 

told, 


74  PANAMA   SONGS. 

After  God's  own  Image — divine  and  vast  i 
But  I  forbear  to  tell  thee  in  what  mould 
The  Janus-spirits,  such  as  thine,  were  cast. 

I  spare  thee,  fool ! — my  modest  Muse  hath 
done: 

Tis  better  thus  for  such  as  thee  to  shun. 

March,  1890. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

Bach  em'rald  blade  that  waveth  'neath  the  sun,, 

Speaks  of  fierce  battle  and  a  fallen  one ! 

Each  yellow  leaf,  strewn  o'er  the  mossy  field, 

Is  epitaph  no  chisel  e'er  revealed  !— 

The  humblest  blossoms  scattered  o'er  the  plain, 

Are  beds  whereon  the  countless  dead  have  lain. 

The  flowers,  too,  they  tell  a  varied  tale 

In  fragrance  wafted  over  hill  and  dale : 

They  soothe  our   aching  hearts,   relieve  the 

gloom, 

And  bear  us  all  in  triumph  to  the  tomb! 
Oh,  love  the  flowers! — they  mingle  with'  our 

dead — 

Distill  sweet  fragrances  o'er  them,  and  shed 
The  lustre  of  their  petals  o'er  each  bed. 

July,  1891. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  75 

EDDY. 

(November  loth,  1889.) 

All  smiling  thou  earnest — 
Then,  wherefore,  my  darling,  so  soon  away  ? 
Scarce  had  thy  morning  burst  forth  into  day, 

When,  lo !  thou  fled'st,  my  boj,  to  rest — 

Down  to  the  gilded  West, 
Where  lieth  the  peaceful  Bay. 

So  soon — so  soon  to  flee 
To  thy  Father's  home  o'er  the  crystal  floods — 
Ten  thousand  hopes  lie  withered  in  their  buds ! 
Silent  thy  parents  weep  for  thee — 

No  more  thy  Mother,  flushed  with  joy, 

Keeps  vigil  o'er  her  baby-boy. 

November,  1890. 


THE  REJECTED  LOVER. 

"I   do  not   love  you!"    were  the  words   she 

spake — 

The  words  that  sent  my  soul  a-sighing ! 
Oh,   I  thought  my  heart,  that  night,  would 

break 
Beneath  her  cold  denying. 


76  PANAMA   SONGS. 

She  asked  me  to  forget  her  for  aye — 
I  chafed  her  tender  hand  and  pleaded 

For  one  small  spot  within  her  heart  alway; 
But  all  in  vain — she  ne'er  conceded. 

We  parted — I,  with  rheumy  eyes  and  sad — 
My  heart  all  filled  to  overflowing ! 

Hers,  seeming,  in  ten  thousand  winters  clad — 
Haughty  and  unbestowing ! 

But  let  that  pass — nathless,  I'll  love  her  e'er; 

E'en  tho'  my  heart  break  on  the  morrow! 
I'll  love  her,  love  her  till  my  life  doth  sear 

And  my  days  grow  weary  with  sorrow. 

Forget  her  tender  face,  I  never  shall! 

I'll  think  of  her  till  my  sands  are  run — 
Till  Night  o'er  my  head  draw  its  purple  pall, 

And  my  weary  travel  is  done. 

Then  I'll  take  her  image  to  the  grave  with 
me — 

The  impress  of  her  hand  beneath  trie  sod — 
I'll  wake  with  the  Trumpet's  call,  and  flee 

To  confess  her  my  love  'fore  God. 

December,  1890. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  77 

LO,  SYLVANUS. 

.Lo,  Sylvanus! — thou  Sovereign  of  the  Woods 
And  trackless  fields,  and  leafy  solitudes — 
A  thousand  memories  are  thine  and  sweet; 
Thy  shady  realms,  the  youth's  enchanted  seat, 
How  oft,  ere  boyhood's  tender  days  were  run, 
And  manhood's  sterner,  riper  years  begun, 
I  gambolled  o'er,  a  careless,  happy  swain, 
Glad  'midst  the  bowers  of  thy  fair  domain! 
Beneath  the  shade  of  thy  tall  poplars'  arms, 
Thy  towering  pines  and  quivering  palms, 
Are  traces  where  my  early  footsteps  strayed 
In  days  of  yore — in  days  forever  dead. 

July,  1901. 


TO  MY  SYDANNA 

Thou'rt  friore  than  I — 
My  soul  doth  yearn  and  pine  for  thee  and 

long— 
Light  of  my  verse  and  spirit  of  my  song! 

I  live  for  thee  and  die. 

I  wait  for  tKee; 

But  weary's  the  waiting;  thou  comest  not, 
sweet, 


/8  PANAMA    SONGS. 

To  light  the  burden  of  my  soul,  nor  greet 
My  longing,  Love,  for  thee. 

I  love  thee  true — 

Nor  Time,  grown  hoary,  shall  my  love  assail: 
'Tis  sung  by  the  birds  and  whispered  in  the 
gale, 

And  well  thou  knowest  it,  too : 

Ten  thousand  times, 
Sweetheart,  mine  eyes  have  flashed  the  tale  and 

wept- 
Ten  thousand  times  within  my  heart  thou'st 

crept, 
And  creepest  in  my  rhymes. 

Lo!  in  my  dreams 
I  see  thy  form  all  rapturously  fair! 
Sweet  is  the  dream ;  but  Oh,  the  sadness,  dear, 

Comes  with  the  Eastern  gleams ! 

But  say — Oh,  say! — 

For  my  heart  is  sad  and  my  life  doth  sear — 
How  shall  I  bear  these  lonely  days  that  wear 

My  very  soul  away? 

I  sigh  for  thee! 

Oh,  bid  the  anguish  cease  within  my  heart ! 
Oh,  haste  the  meeting,  Love — no  more  to  part 

Till  Death's  rich  harvest  be. 

July,  1891. 


PANAMA  SONGS.  .  79 

GONE. 
(To  J.  L.  M.) 

Gone ! — not  like  the  ship  to  other  havens  bound, 
Nor  like  the  Dove,  with  branch  of  Olive  found ; 
But  gone  unto  that  sweet,  ethereal  .realm, 
Where  thy  wrecked  bark  no  more  may  heed 

the  helm, 
Where  sails  are  furled  for  aye,  and  anchors 

cast, 
And  nought  remaineth  save  the  barren  mast — 

Where  the  rude  tempest's  breath,  nor  Thun- 
der's roar 

Thy  dreamless  sleep  shall  mar!  For,  evermore, 
Hast  thou  past  beyond  the  turbulent  foam, 
And  art  safe — safe.    In  -thy  superrral  home 
No  levin's  wrath  upon  thee  shall  intrude 
To  mar  the  splendor  of  thy  beatitude ! 

Sleep  on — sleep  on !  thy  homeward  race  is  run, 
The  din  of  storm  is  lulled,  thy  goal  is  won ; 
In  thy  haven  fair  our  shattered  barks  may  meet 
To  swell  the  countless  host  of  Heaven,  Sweet ; 
If  such  be  sooth — a  Doctrine  Sages  urge — 
Speed — speed,  my  craft   across ,  the  boundless 
surge, 

August,  1891. 


80  PANAMA  SONGS. 

NEW  YEAR. 
(1892.) 

This  is  the  glad  New  Year ! 
May  it  bring  us  all  good  cheer — 
May  every  home 
'Neath  Heaven's  dome, 
Upon  this  New  Year  da>, 
Be  blessed  for  aye! 

This  is  the  New  Year  tide — 
Let  Passion's  flame  subside  I—- 
Old wounds  take  flight, 
Friends  reunite, 
As  in  the  days  of  yore, 
In  peace  once  more. 

This  is  the  Season  blest 

By  lofty  prayer  and  rest — 

Let  Charity, 

Humanity, 

Unfold  their  portals  wide 

This  New  Year  tide. 

Upon  this  New  Year  tide 
Away  with  Folly's  pride! 
For  Proud,  Opulent, 
6 


PANAMA    SONGS. 


Meek,  Indigent, 

Alike  shall  pass  to  dwell 

Within  one  common  cell 


January,  1892. 


OUR  LITTLE  LIVES  ARE  MYSTERIES. 

Our  little  lives  are  mysteries — 
Around  us  lie  the  boundless  seas 
Of  Time,  wherein  by  pain,  disease, 
We  fall  and  sink  by  slow  degrees. 

Our  days  are  spent  'midst  fears  and  aches  • 
Till,  like  the  placid  rills  and  lakes 
The  mightier  torrent  overtakes,  " 
We're  swept  beyond  all  earthly  wakes! 

Our  days  are  numbered — silently 
We  pass  from  this  deep  mystery — 
From  out  this  turmoil — drudgery, 
To  sleep — to  dream  eternally! 

We  grope  forever  in  the  dark, 
Till,  like  the  tempest-ridden  bark, 
We're  shattered  ere  one  glimmering  spark 
Doth  warn  us  of  the  danger  mark. 


g2  PANAMA   SONGS. 

So  little  Spring  throughout  the  year! — 
The  chiliad  winters  blight  and  sear 
The  tender  roots  of  our  career 
Ere  we  are  aware. 

March,  1892. 


DISTINCTIONS. 

.When  shall  this  world,  this  strange,  cold  world 

resign 

Her  haughty  purple,  and  her  pompous  line? 
And  men,  who  walk  through  life  their  several 

ways 

To  suit  proud  stations  and  their  golden  days, 
Pursue  the  self-same  road  the  meek  abound, 
And  meet  their  brethren  upon  equal  ground 
For,  wheresoever  our  footsteps  turn, 
All  pathways  lead  unto  one  common  bourn! 

Society,  for  starch  decorum's  sake, 

Within  her  halls  plants  firm  the  limit  stake, 

And  sets  her  boundaries  with  prudish  mind 

To  plan  unjust  divisions  in  mankind. 

Let  fit  distinctions  lie  within  the  gates 

Of  Reason's  realm — Discretion's  vast  estates; 


PANAMA   SONGS.  83 

But    wherefore    Gold    his    glittering    sceptre 

wield 
To  raise  up  ramparts  on  Society's  field? 

As  in  the  meadows  bloom,  of  every  scent  and 

dye, 

The  varied  flowers  'neath  one  argent  sky, 
Transcending  some  in  radiance,  some  in  grace, 
Yet  all  must  mix  to  harmonize  the  race ! 
So,  after  well  proportioned  lines  are  drawn, 
Precise  as  clouds  divide  dark  night  from  dawn, 
Let  all  men  know,  whatever  their  stations  be, 
Mankind  may  dwell  in  sweeter  harmony. 

March,  1892. 


THROUGH  LIFE  WE  TRAVEL  ALL 
ALONE. 

Through  life  we  travel  all  alone: 
There  is  no  friend  to  call  our  own ; 
For  Friendship  is  a  thing  unknown. 

The  daily  proffered  hands  we  press — 
How  many  a  one  in  times  of  stress 
.Will  minister  one  kind  caress? 


84 


PANAMA  SONGS. 


On  this,  our  rugged  road  of  life, 
We  wage  with  man  eternal  strife! 
For  every  morn  the  air  is  rife 

With  clash  of  arms,  and  cannonade — 
The  latest  wailings  of  the  dead, 
And  carnage  o'er  the  meadows  spread. 

Eons  roll  on — the  Seasons  bring 
The  timely  frosts,  the  vernal  Spring, 
And  soft  and  sunny  skies  that  ring 

With  melodies ;  but  what  to  man  ? — 
No  nice  mutations  to  our  clan: 
The  cycles  end,  as  they  began, 

In  days  of  strife;  for  in  the  race 
And  rush  of  life,  we  chase  and  chase, 
Fore'er,  vain  dreams  of  fame  and  place. 

May,  1892. 


TENNYSON. 

(October  6th,  1892.) 

Thy  sun  hath  set,  Oh,  Bard  divine; 

Thy  day's  sunk  down — 
Night  shades  thy  head,  Oh,  Bard  divine, 

With  sable  frown. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  85 

Cold  death  hath  chilled  thy  honored  brow—* 

Thy  life-blood  quenched; 
And  from  thy  hand,  that  resteth  now, 

The  quill  hath  wrenched. 

Mute  hangs  thy  Lyre  on  the  wall 

Mourning  thy  hap ; 
Thy  mantle  serves  as  Funeral  pall 

Thy  bier  to  wrap. 

Thine  earthly  voice  is  hushed  fore'er, 

But  soars  above — 
What  other  Laureate  fill  thy  bright  career 

With  songs  of  love? 

I  will  not  here  invoke  a  throng 

Thy  fame  to  ring : 
Thy  praise,  that  lights  on  every  tongue, 

What  Minstrel  sing! 

Thy  name  shall  live  in  every  age — 

In  every  clime! 
Thy  mem'ry  dwell  in  every  page 

Of  thy  sweet  rhyme. 

In  the  bright  meadows  of  thy  verse 

Enchantment  dwells : 
Thy  fields  of  song  I  oft  traverse 

With  raptured  spells! 


86  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Thou  are  not  dead — Oh,  sweetest  Singer! 

Thy  bays  are  green — 
Tho'  cloistered  in  dark  sepulchre 

Thy  light  is  seen. 

Thou  art  not  dead — Oh,  Bard  divine! 

Thy  work  endureth — 
Thy  voice,  through  every  song  of  thine, 

Still  rings  on  Earth. 

October,  1892. 


"BILL"  McKINLEY.* 

I  hear  them  say,  "McKinley's  dead!"— 

Dead  for  the  cycles  to  be! 
His  vaunted  Tariff  knocked  in  the  head 

By  triumphant  Democracy! 

Poor  Billy  was  a  Shipwright  famed, 
Who  built  for  his  party  a  Skiff, 

Which,  one  fine  dav,  he  launched  and  named 
The  "Nation's  Protective  Tariff." 


*  Lines  inspired  by  the  defeat  of  the  Republican  Party 
in  the  U.  S.  of  America  in  1892. 


PANAMA   SONGS. 

He  sailed  the  shallop,  he  and  his  clan, 
'Midst  the  din  of  Free-Traders'  storm; 

He  flew  the  flag  Republican, 

And  steered  from  the  port  of  Reform! 

McKinley  was  a  Skipper  brave ; 

But  his  vaunted  "Tariff"  and  he 
Lie  wrecked  fore'er  'neath  the  tidal  wave 

Of  triumphant  Democracy. 

November,  1892. 


CONSUELO. 

Wherefore  do  we  weep,  my  brothers — 

Weep  with  blinding  tears,  our  dead? 
Know  we  aught  of  that  dim  Future — 

Of  the  after-life  we  dread? 
It  may  be  that  Death,  the  Pilot, 

Though  his  seas  be  dark  and  dim, 
Steers  us  o'er  the  silent  waters, 

Nearer,  nearer — near  to  Him- 

It  may  be  that  the  transition 
From  a  world  of  care  and  strife, 

Leads  us  to  a  sweet  Elysium — 
To  a  new  and  better  life ! 

Where  we  reck  no  more  the  seasons — 


88  PANAMA   SONGS. 

What  the  dawning  morrows  bring, 
Where  the  altar-fires  clothe  us 

In  perennial  garb  of  spring — 
In  the  bloom  of  youth  eternal, 

In  the  light  of  God's  own  Being. 

Time,  my  brothers,  Time  is  fleeting : 

Onward  sweep  the  years  apace ! 
Day  by  day  our  steps  grow  fainter 

Till  we  stumble  in  the  race — 
Lo !  our  little  lives  are  speeding 

Like  the  streams  o'er  mount  and  hill : 
Onward  till  the  currents  take  us 

To  that  Haven — peaceful  still — 
Where  it's  golden  summer  always, 

And  there  comes  to  us  no  ill! 

Life,  my  brothers,  life  is  two-fold: 

Earth  is  but  the  pseudo  half; 
Elsewhere  lies  the  golden  harvest, 

Here  we  reap  the  grainless  chaff! 
Let  us  then  be  steadfast,  brothers, — 

Strive  to  shape  our  lives  aright: 
iteep  with  God  the  Trust  unbroken — 

Keep  with  men  the  Faith  we  plight; 
Justice  be  the  glowing  Censer — 

Truth,  the  Incense  burning  bright. 

October,  1892. 


PANAMA    SONGS.  89 

THE  DAWN  AND  LUCILLE. 

The  morn,  the  drowsy  morn  elate, 

Silvering  the  tranquil  blue — 
Stole  softly  through  the  Eastern  gate — 

The  starry  avenue! 
Sweet  was  the  message  of  that  morn — 

I  heard  the  tiny  warning: 
That  unto  us  Lucille  was  born — 

My  own  Lucille  with  the  morning — 
My  pretty  Lucille; 
My  darling  Lucille — 

Long  live  my  Lucille  of  the  dawning. 

February,  1893. 


TRUTH. 

The  crystal  font  of  Truth  is  dry — 
Falsehood  chants  Truth  her  lullaby, 
Till  Truth  in  Falsehood's  lap  doth  lie 
Aswoon — asleep. 

And  swoons  and  sleepeth  on  and  on; 
For  Falsehood,  rising  on  the  morn, 
Obscures,  as  early  mist  the  dawn. 
The  light  of  Truth. 


June,  1893. 


9O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

MEEMY. 

I  saw  thee  pass  away,  my  own  true  friend, 

In  all  the  matchless  glory  of  thy  days ! 
I  watched,  with  anxious  eyes,  the  frosts  de- 
scend 

About  thy  path,  encompassing  thy  ways; 
Till  all  the  snows,  that  gathered  'round  thy 

head, 
Had  weaved   for  thee,   in  silence,   Meemy 

dear, 
On  yonder  Hill  amongst  the  countless  dead, 

The  grave  wherein  thou  sleepest  and  f  ore'er ! 
Oh,  how  my  soul  has  sorrow'd  at  thy  flight ! 
With   trembling  hands,   across   thy   placid 

breast 

I  laid  thy  wasted  arms  that,  many  a  night, 
In  childhood  days,  had  lulled  me  back  to 

rest — 

For  all  thy  sweet,  unselfish  love  for  me 
I  pay  thee  back  a  thousand  tears,  Meemy. 

August,  1893. 


PANAMA    SONGS.  QH 

THE  STORM. 

The  calm  is  broke — how  darkly  frowns  the 

night ! 
The  wild  winds  whistle  through  my  cottage 

door; 
And,  like  a  thousand  cataracts,  foaming  white, 

The  billows  shout  and  roar ! 
And   deafening  thunders  rend  the  skies  and 

crash : 

I  hear  each  far-off  prophesying  peal ; 
And  fitful  gleams  of  lightning,  flash  on  flash, 

The  gates  of  Heaven  reveal. 
Wild  is  the  scene,  and  dark  the  eve  and  cold — 
See  how  the  freighted  clouds  ^on  heights  in- 
vade! 
No  stars  to-night  their  sweet  communion  hold 

In  those  vast  realms-  of  shade  f 
But  gloom  is  o'er  the  land ;  and,  far  and  wide, 
The  storm-clouds,  frowning,  o'er  the  Heav- 
ens extend; 
I  hear  the  deep,  weird  moaning  of  the  tide, 

And  lo !  the  rains  descend. 
Down  swoops  the  mighty  shower  amain! 
The  Palm  Trees  shake  and  shiver  in  the 

blast ! 

Apace,  apace  the  driving  hurricane 
Sweeps  o'er  the  land  aghast, 
And  the  rain  falls  thick  and  fast. 

November,  1893. 


p2  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  SONG  OF  SILVER.* 

I've  ben  ousted  by  the  Senate, 

Where  I've  known  nor  had  relief 
Since  "them"  Democrats  came  in  and  sate 

Upon  me  like  a  thief! 
They  held  the  Wake  before  I  died, 

And  rang  my  knell  and  tolled; 
They  dubbed  me  base,  my  worth  denied, 

And  howled  for  brother  Gold ! 

I  heard  the  cries  of:  "Down  the  wight!" — 

"The  Metal  White  to  hell  P 
I  stood  my  guns :  I  knew  my  Right, 

I  fought,  and,  fighting,  fell. 
But  why  the  rumpus? — why  the  rows? — 

The  long  debates — gee  whiz ! — 
That  made  the  Senate  and  the  House 

With  lucubrations  dizz7? 

For  I'm  taken  by  the  hands  of  all! 

I've  been  counted  as  of  worth 
E'er  since  I  left  my  native  thrall — 

My  boundless  Mother  Earth! 
I'm  courted  everywhere  and  sought; 

I  keep  men  out  of  debt ; 


*  Lines  inspired  by  the  repeal  of  the  Sherman  Law 
in  the  United  States  Senate. 


PANAMA  SONGS.  «  93 

'Twos  with  my  stuff  the  Cup  was  wrought 
Dunraven  tried  to  get! 

Some  put  me  in  heir  pockets  for  wealth, 

I'm  pocketed  by  "sum!" 
I'll  be  the  poor  man's  friend  and  health 

From  now  till  Kingdom  come. 
Yet  I'm  banished  into  exile, 

The  desert  ore  to  range! 
But,  hold  my  friends,  just  wait  a  while — 

You'll  come  to  me  for  Change. 

November,  1893, 


THE  CHRISTMAS  SERENADE. 

+• 

What  sounds  were  those  that  stirred  the  morn- 
ing air — 
That  snatched  me  from  the  glowing  hours 

of  sleep; 
That,  loud  and  shrill,  voluptuous  and  clear, 

Swelled  on  the  morn,  re-echoed  on  the  deep? 
'Twas  the  voice  of  Song  that,  floating  from 

afar, 

Blent  with  the  murmur  of  the  sad  sea  rim; 
I  heard  the  plaintive  moaning  of  the  bar — 
The  sweet,  exultant  swelling  of  a  Hymn ! 


94  PANAMA    SONGS. 

Then  all  my  soul,  enraptured  and  elate, 

Half  dreamy  caught  the  burden  of  the  Song 
That  swelled  all  loud  before    the    Chaplain's 

gate- 
Sweet  were  the  words  that  lighted  on  each 

tongue, 
That    Christmas    morn    beneath    the    starlit 

Heaven : 

"Peace  upon  earth,  and  Good  Will  toward 
men." 

December,  1853. 


MIDNIGHT  ODE  TO  THE  DYING 
YEAR. 

The  year  is  dying — dying  fast : 

I  hear  the  Minster-Bells  a-ringing. 

By  the  wayside  of  Time,  all  weary,  aghast, 
While  the  world  is  up  and  singing, 

Lies  the  old  year  dying  fast. 

Calm  is  His  rurrowed  rJrow  and  pale ; 

All  thick  the  mists  are  gathering  'round  him ; 
From  the  dreamy  West,  like  a  soft  Summer 
gale— 


PANAMA   SONGS.  95 

The  West  where  a  red,  lone  star  grows 

dim — 
Comes  the  Old  Year's  dying  wail. 

Hark!  on  the  midnight,  hushed  and  still, 
I  hear  the  parting  footsteps  of  the  Year 

All  light  as  the  ripples  of  a  babbling  rill — 
A  million  torches,  burning  clear, 

Escort  the  Old  Year  down  the  Hill. 

December,  1893. 


MY  AMBITION. 

All  men  have  their    own    ambition — I    have 

mine: 

'Tis  not  to  soar  to  realms  of  regal  heights, 
Nor  mingle  with  the  long  glittering  line 
Of     persecuting     Monarchs,     Lords     and 

Knights : 
I  hold  all  these  the  pageant  of  a  day! 

Nor  yet  to  don  me  with  a  Mammon's  Crest 
Is  my  ambition — far  loftier  than  they! 
I'd  sing  the  songs  my  neighbors  love  the 

best; 
And,  singing,  swell  the  ballad  loud  and  long. 


g6  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Till  some  poor  mortal,  bending  'neath  the 

load 
Of  griefs  and  cares  find  comfort  in  my  song — 

I'd  help  a  fallen  brother  on  the  road — 
Be  humane,  charitable — my  name  write  then 

Upon  the  hearts  of  all  my  fellow-men. 

February,  1894, 


I'M  GOING  HOME. 

I'm  going  Home — I'm  going  Home — 
My  boat  lies  moored  upon  the  land; 

I  hear  the  sound  of  the  surging  foam 
Break — break  on  the  golden  strand! 

And  the  voice  of  the  wind,  all  loud  and  shrill, 
Like  the  wail  of  the  whip-po'-will, 

A-calling  me  Home — "Come  Home!" 

I'm  going  Home — I'm  going  Home  r 
To  my  Home  o'er  the  crystal  floods, 

Whence  my  weary  bark  nevermore  shall  roam ; 
But  beneath  sweet  flowers  and  buds, 

And  Myrtles  that  forever  are  green, 
I'll  sleep  till  God  doth  gather  me  in 

At  last  'neath  His  shining  Dome. 
7 


PANAMA   SONGS.  97 

Weep  not  for  me  when  I  am  gone 
To  that  Haven  of  peace  and  rest, 

Where  the  noon-day  sun,  shining  on  and  on, 
Never  sinks  to  the  dreamy  West ; 

But  come  with  the    flowers   thou    reapest    in 

Spring 
To  brighten  the  spot  where  I  sleep,  Darling; 

And  leave  me  a-dreaming  on. 

April,  1894. 


I  LOVE  TO  WANDER. 

I  love  to  wander  through  the  trackless  woods, 
To  quaff  the  fragrance  of  the  opening  buds, 
And  hear  the  gentle  lowing  of  the  kme — 
The  lambs'  cold  bleating — the  rustle    of   the 

pine: 

Sweet  are  those  solitudes  beyond  the  strife 
And  rush  and  tumult  of  the  City-life! 

I    love    the    mountain-paths,    the    meadows 

green — 

The  sweet  romantic  grandeur  of  the  scene. 
I  love  to  dwell  the  hills  and  dales  among — 
To  catch  the  spirit  of  the  song  that's  sung 
By  every  vine  and  waving  branch  around — 
To  feel  the  God-like  silence — sweet — profound. 


98 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


To  hold  communion  with  the  sun-kissed  hills, 
And  hear  the  music  of  the  rippling  rills ; 
For  here  no  scandal-tongues  the  ears  invade — 
'Tis  sweet  repose  and  rapture  in  the  shade! 
For  in  those  boundless  paths  and  forests  dense, 
All  things  commune  with  lofty  eloquence. 

April,  1894. 


THE  PRESENT. 

Oh,  thou,  perturbed  and  all  too  fleeting  Pres- 
ent ! — 

Thou  keeper  of  the  Secrets  of  the  Past ! — 
All  swift  thou  goest,  like  the  Bedouin,  bent 
On  some  grave  mission — hurrying  througH) 

the  blast 

And  storm  and  tempest  of  thy  fading  hours, 
That,  one  by  one,  thou  givest  up  to  swell 
The  wealth  and  harvest  of  the  Years — Time's 

dowers — 

Tell  me,  Oh,  thou  mysterious  Present,  tell! 
What  knowest  thou  of  the  Seasons  and  the 

Years— 

Of  all  the  days  and  ages  yet  to  be? 
For  'fore  thy  Throne,  o'er  whelmed  with  many 
fears, 


PANAMA   SONGS.  99 

I  crouch  and  shudder  lest  the  wrath  of  thee 
Should  bid  my  captive  soul,  this  hour, 

away; 
Tell  me,  for  thou  art  Master  of  To-day. 

May,  1894. 


THE  PAST. 

Oh,  thou,  soul-sad,  irrevocable  Past! — 
Ten  thousand  wrecks  lie  scattered  at  thy 

door — 
I  dream,  ofttimes,  of  all  the  things  thou  hast 

Of  mine  within  thy  illimitable  store. 
But  foremost  in  the  ruin  and  the  rack 

Of  all  the  years  now  gathered  'round  thy 

head — 
Amidst  thy  grief-worn  paths  I  see,  alack ! 

The  wasted,  pallid  faces  of  my  dead. 
All  these,  Oh,  thou,  relentless  Past  and  sealed — 
When  thou,  the  Future,  Present,    shall    be 

One — 

To  thy  heir-regnant  Future  wilt  thou  yield, 
Clothed  in  new  life,  another  course  to  run? 
Or  wilt  thou  keep — forever    keep    them 

all?— 
Tell  me,  Oh,  Past,  for  I  grow  skeptical. 

May,  1894. 


IOO  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  FUTURE. 

Oh,  thou  Future ! — sing  me  thy  song  all  low, 

Thou  stern,  mysterious  Arbiter  to  be; 
What  hast  thou  in  thy  giving  to  bestow? — 

Or  Death,  or  Life  Eternal  thy  decree? 
I  speak  not  of  the  plenitude  thou  hast 

Of  living  dowers  and  bounties  to  bequeath; 
But  when  the  years  are  gathered  in,  at  last, 
Oh,  claim  me  from  the  "sluggish  clod,"  and 

breathe, 
Once  more,  within  my  crumbling  form  and 

dust 
Life's  sweet  ambrosial  spirit  that,  from  the 

dream 
And  bond  of  Death,  awakening,  I  may  burst 

Forth  into  immortal  Day,  beneath  the  gleam 
Of  the  far-fair  vistas  of  that  glorious  sphere 
Whereof  have  sung  the  Prophet    and    the 
Seer. 

May,  1894. 


I  WONDER. 

Ofttimes  I  gaze  into  the  starlit  sky, 

In  the  tranquil  night,  elate, 
And  wonder  if,  beyond  those  shining  orbs  on 
high, 


PANAMA  SONGS.  IOI 

Another  destiny  for  me  doth  wait — 
If  there,  beyond  the  cold  ethereal  space, 

Where  a  thousand  stars  are  gleaming, 
I'll  find  the  Haven  and  the  tender  Grace 

Of  God,  in  my  last  long  dreaming. 

June,  1894. 


SO  THEY  SAY. 

Some  Poets,  they  say,  are  jealous  of  each  other; 

Though  each  unto  each  should  be  brother. 

{Let  a  Poet  just  ask,  sir,  of  one  of  his  crew 

An  opinion  of  such  and  such  poem — or  two, 

"They  are  gems!"  he  will  answer,  but — 
whew ! — 

Let  a  Critic  approach  him — 

The  Lord  help  the  poem! — 

With  praises  for  each  line  and  letter! 

That  Bard,  sure  enough, 

Will  declare,  "It's  all  stuff!"— 

That,  "A  child,  two  years  old,  could  do  bet- 
ter!" 

Tho'  he  not  as  much,  I'll  bet,  Sir. 

June,  1894. 


IO2  PANAMA   SONGS. 

AWAKE. 

Awake  and  up,  Sydanna ! 

See! — o'er  yonder  mountain  brown  the  sun 

is  shining. 
Awake  and  up,  Sydanna, 

And  hie  with  me,  for  my  heart  is  sad  and 

pining ! — 

Pining  for  thee  that  thou  sleepest  thus  soundly ! 
Hark! — dost  thou  not  hear    from    yonder 

Belfry,  dear, 
The  hour  of  noon  a-tolling  all  profoundly? 

Awake!  awake!  thy  new-born  boy  is  here — 
Here  with  a  thousand  smiles  to  greet  thee — 
Smiles  born  from  out  that  wonder-world  of 

pain! 
Here  with  a  thousand  hopes — ah,  woe's  me! 

What  doubt  and  terror  flash  across  my  brain, 
All  weary  grown  with  sad  misgiving — 

Misgiving  born  as  sudden  as  the  storm, 
And  thunderbolts  and  jagged  lightnings,  riving 
Italian  skies,  when  Summer  suns  are  warm. 
Thou  wakest  not,  Sydanna! 

Last  evening's  buds  in  the  noon-day  sun  are 

gleaming — 
Buds  that  for  the  love  of  you 

Yield  flower  fragrances  distilled  with  dew 
Of  last  night's  heaven,  where  every  star  was 
dreaming, 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


And  the  moon  not  e'en  the  weeping  clouds- 

shone  through  ! 

For  Sorrow  was  of  moon  and  star  and  me, 
Sweetheart,  all  for  the  love  of  thee. 

December  5th,  1894. 


I  DREAMT  OF  THEE. 

I  dreamt  of  thee  the  live-night-long :    • 
I  dreamt  that  thou  wast  fair  as  ever! 

I  heard  thee  sing  the  old,  sweet  song 

That  we  twain  once  had  sung  together. 

I  saw  thee  by  the  front  porch  standing — 
I  heard  those  mighty  billows  rqar ! — 

And  as  I  stepped  upon  the  landing, 

We  weaved  our  wreaths  of  kisses  o'er. 

Bathed  was  thy  face  in  Summer's  glory; 

Around  us  played  our  little  band, 
While  we  two  spake  our  old  love-story, 

With  heart  to  heart,  and  hand  in  hand. 

But  to  my  dream  the  awakening  came 
And  swept  my  soul  from  thine  asunder ! 

And  then  my  life  once  more  became 
The  prey  of  grief,  I'm  sinking  under. 


104 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


For  Day  me  bringeth  nought  but  sorrow — 
Night  soothes  my  soul  with  balm  of  rest; 

For  then  I  dream,  perchance  to-morrow 
I'll  once  more  clasp  thee  to  my  breast, 

To  say  some  loving  words  unspoken — 
Repair  those  graver  moods  of  mine ! — 

To  give  thee,  sweet,  this  one  last  token: 
I  loved  thee  with  a  love  all  thine. 

June,  1895. 


A  PLAINTIVE  LULLABY. 

Lullaby,  lullaby — child,  I'm  in  sorrow! 

Sleep,  baby  mine,  till  the  dawn  of  the  day; 
Down  into  Dream-land  go  roam  till  the  mor- 
row, 
A-dreaming    of    Mother,    who's    far — far 

away! 

Far,  far  away,  where,  in  raiments  of  glory, 
She  watches  thy  slumbers,  and  guards  thee, 

my  boy — 
Far,  far  away — but  I'll  tell  thee  the  story; 

I'll  tell  how  my  life  was  bereft  of  its  joy — 
Bereft  of  its  sunshine,  and  love  unawares — 
When  Time  weaves  around  thee  his  garland 
of  years. 


PANAMA  SONGS.  10$ 

Lullaby,  lullaby — child  of  the  morning! 

List,  baby  mine,  to  the  song  of  my  heart — 
There  where  the  stars  are  all  brightly  adorn- 
ing, 
Is  where  thy  sweet  Mother  now  dwelleth, 

apart ! 

Sleep,  baby  mine,  the  sweet  slumber  of  child- 
hood; 

No  fond  Mother's  kisses  shall  ever  be  thine ! 
Nor  when  thou  awakest  from  boyhood  to  man- 
hood, 
Wilt  hear  the  soft  ring  of    her    voice    all 

divine ! 
For  the  songs  she  had  sung  thee  are  blending 

above 

With  the  songs  Angels  sang  her,  and  won 
her,  my  Love. 

^ 

June,  1895. 


BACK  TO  MY  ISTHMIAN  HOME. 

Back  to  my  Isthmian  home — 

Back  to  the  scenes  of  my  boyhood ! 

Where  my  weary  feet,  every  evening  roam 
The  sad,  lone  paths  where  once  she  stood, 

In  all  the  glories  of  her  prime — 


io6 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


In  all  her  loveliness  sublime! 
'Twas  then  we  twain,  my  Love  and  I, 

Like  playmates  on  a  Summer's  day, 
Together  wandered,  hand  in  hand, 
Adown  the  wave-washed,  pebbled  strand, 

And  the  world  was  one  sweet  May. 

Back  to  my  Isthmian  home — 

Alone — for  my  Love  lieth  sleeping ! 
No  exile  from  his  Tiber-watered  Rome 

Hath  wept  as  I  am  weeping! 
"Back" — I  hear  the  palm  trees  sighing — 

"Back,"  the  mighty  billows  roar; 
I  see  the  crimson  sunsets  dying 

As  in  the  happier  days  of  yore. 
And  stars  are  born  to  light  the  skies — 

The  silver  crescents  burn  and  wane, 
And  gladdening  Summer  suns  arise; 

But  my  true  Love  comes  not  again! 
Gone  is  the  Mother  of  my  flock — 

Gone  my  counsellor  and  my  friend ! 
I  stand,  as  on  a  lonely  rock 

Some  shipwrecked  mariner  waits  his  end. 

Back — where  once  my  Love  and  I 
Together  watched  the  sunsets  dying, 

And  spake  of  days  that,  drawing  nigh, 
To  kindred  hearts  would  find  us  hieing. 

But  now  I  sit  and  dream  alone, 


PANAMA  SONGS. 

Till,  in  the  building  of  the  dream, 
I  win  her  back  all  Heavenly  grown; 

And  then  my  Love  doth  living  seem! 
But  soon  the  dream-wove  spell  is  broken: 

I  feel  the  kiss  she  gave  me  last — 
I  hear  the  sad  farewell,  half  spoken; 

And  then  the  Past  is  mine  again, 

With  all  its  bitterness  and  pain. 

August,  1895. 


SO  YOU'VE  HEARD  THAT  MY  HEART 
IS  PLIGHTED. 

So,  you've  heard  that  my  heart  is  plighted? — 

That  my  love  is  born  again? 
And  the  love  that  my  soul  first  lighted 

Lies  dead  at  a  new  Love's  fane? 

Have  you  heard  that  the  Sunsets'  glories 
Yesterevening  burnt  the  East? — 

If  you  have,  sooner  heed  such  stories 
Than  believe  me'n  love,  at  least! 

Have  you  heard  that  the  Ships  of  the  Ocean 
All  inverted  sail  the  blue? 


I0g  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Have  you  heard  that  the  Earth's  swift  motion 
Hath  paused  'round  the  Sun's  disk  too? — 

Well,  yes,  methinks  I'll  marry 

When  Heaven  swings  wide  for  me 

The  gates  where  my  Love  doth  tarry — 
The  gates  of  Eternity. 

August,  1895. 


I  SEE  THEE  NOW,  SYDANNA. 

I  see  thee  now,  Sydanna — 

Flushed  with  the  glories  of  thy  girl-days' 

prime ! 

A  wealth  of  rose-tints  on  thy  cheeks,  Sydanna ; 
And  in  thy  violet  eyes,  sublime, 
A  love,  that  was  for  me, 
All  boundless  as  the  sea — 
A  love  that  loved  all  time. 

I  see  thee  now,  Sydanna — 

Not   as   thou    art — amongst   the   countless 

dead! 

But  as  thou  wast,  in  days  of  old,  I  see  thee : 
A  gold-curl  cluster  circling  thy  head, 
And  on  thy  face  divine, 


PANAMA   SONGS.  IO9 

The  smile  that  e'er  was  mine — 
The  smile  that  comforted. 

I  saw  thee  last,  Sydanna — 

The  light  all  faded  from  thy  blue-pale  eyes; 
The  kiss  of  Death  upon  thy  face,  Sydanna — 
Upon  thy  brow,  the  star  of  Paradise! 
Thy  smile,  not  as  of  old; 
Thy  dream-head  aureoled 
With  halos  of  the  skies. 

I  see  thee  now  no  more! 

And  nights  are  mine  without  one  guiding 

star, 

Or  silver  moon,  or  pearly  cloud,  Sydanna — 
Even  the  days  without  one  sunbeam  are! 
For  thou,  whom  Death  hath  Won, 
To  me  wast  star  and  sun 
And  moon,  no  cloud  could  mar. 

I'll  see  thee  nevermore ! 

Nor  hear  the  tender  cadence  of  thy  tongue, 
That  stirred  such  music  in  my  soul,  Sydanna, 
My    very    life    with    Angel-chords    seemed 

strung; 

But  those  glad-golden  days 
Are  dead  for  me  always. 

October,  1895. 


IIO  PANAMA   SONGS. 

ONE  YEAR  A-GONE. 

My  soul  is  wrapped  to-night  in  gloom, 
Deep  as  yon  clouds  the  heavens  wear! 

I  sit  within  a  cheerless  room, 

And  lisp  some  solemn  words  of  prayer 

To  Him  Whose  Will  will  e'er  be  done- 
God  rest  her  soul  in  peace,  I  prayed — 

I  weep  for  her  whom  God  hath  won, 
Until  I  see  her  all  arrayed 
In  garb  of  peace,  all  heaven-made. 

One  year  agone ;  and  yet  meseems 

'Twere  yesterday  my  life's  own  light — 

The  first  Love  of  my  boyhood's  dreams — 
Passed,  like  the  Sunsets,  into  Night! 

Yet  the  world  laughs  on,  all  heedless 
Of  my  sorrow,  and  lonely  am  I ! 

Yet  sorrow  is  but  loneliness : 

I  lift  my  soul  to  heaven  on  high 
For  comfort,  but  there  is  none  nigh ! 

One  year  agone — wherefore  I  sit 
To-night,  my  body  spent  with  fast — 

My  soul  with  meditations  lit; 

Mine  eyes  all  wet  with  tears  of  last 

Year's  Sorrow,  communing  with  the  dead- 
I  call  her  vision  out  the  sod; 


PANAMA   SONGS.  ill  I 

And,  when  my  soul's  half  comforted, 
I  give  her  back  unto  the  God, 
Who  giveth — taketh — I  keep  the  Rod. 

December  4th,  1895. 


MY  SHIP  SAILS  OVER  THE  BLUR 

I've  just  seen  the  children — bless  them! 

I've  just  bade  them  all  adieu; 
I've  just  kissed  the  children — spare  them; 

And  my  Ship  sails  over  the  blue. 

I've  just  left  them  all — God  keep  them 
From  Sorrow  and  pain  and  rue! 

I've  just  left  them  all  a-weeping 
'Cause  my  Ship  sails  over  the  blue. 

I've  left  them,  my  loved-ones,  dreaming 
Of  days  that  were  brief  and  few — 

Of  days  that  were  reft  of  sorrow, 
Till  my  ship  sailed  over  the  blue. 

I've  left  them — Oh,  how  they  wept  o'er  me, 
And  clung  to  my  arms  and  flew ! 

How  my  hands  they  chafed,  and  caressed  me 
Ere  my  ship  sailed  over  the  blue! 


112  PANAMA   SONGS. 

I've  left  them — I  go  with  my  sorrow — 

Mine  eyes  all  bedimmed  with  dew — 
My  soul  dreaming  dreams  of  the  morrow 

I'll  return  o'er  the  boundless  blue- 
March,  1896. 


CUBA  LIBRE. 

Cuba  libre!    Cuba  libre! 

Full  many  a  heart  is  crying. 
For  Cuba  libre,  Cuba  libre, 

Her  brave,  bold  sons  are  dying. 
For  Cuba  libre  sings  the  world — 

For  Cuba  sings  a  Singer; 
What  though  my  Muse's  wings  are  furled  ?- 

A  song  soul-deep  I  sing  her! 
I  wing  the  anthem  wide  and  free 

Across  the  boundless  waters ; 
And,  singing,  pray  for  Liberty 

For  Cuba's  sons  and  daughters. 
Then  stand  ye  Spartan  Cubans — stand 

On  the  battle  field  and  gory, 
And,  for  the  love  of  thy  dear  land, 

Strike — for  her  freedom — glory! 
To  arms!  To  arms!  your  Mothers  cry; 

To  arms!  your  children  prattle — 
To  arms !  To  arms !  the  drums  beat  high, 
8 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


And  the  bayonets  clash  and  rattle! 
They  come — they  come,  the  banded  train ; 

The  foe  your  gite  is  thralling — 
They  come,  they  come,  and  the  bright  red  rain 

O'er  the  land  ye  love  is  falling — 
To  arms !  to  arms !  the  widows  cry ; 

To  arms!  your  children  prattle — 
.Where  Gomez  and  Maceo  lie, 

Go  pledge  your  souls  in  Battle. 

June,  1896. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SKY. 

Oh,  realm  of  promised  bliss ! 

Unfold  to  me  thy  secret,  hidden  lore, 
That  I  may  read  the  myriad  stars  that  kiss 

Thy  meek,  mild  face,  and,  reading,  weep  no 
more. 

Illimitable  sky! — 

To-night    all    prodigal    of    moon-wrought 

sheen — 
I  fill  my  spirit  with  the  things  that  lie, 

Perchance,   beyond  thee — things  that  once 
have  been, 


PANAMA    SONGS. 


But  are  no  more  of  earth, 

This  grief-worn  planet,  where  the  sons  of 

men 
Are  born  to  suffer,  and  where  life  is  dearth, 

And  death  is  nigh,  and  tears  fall  as  the  rain ! 

Art  thou,  O  boundless  space! 

The  far,  fair  bourn,  where  the  freed  spirits 

dwell?— 
Where  kindred  souls,  beneath  thy  eternal  grace, 

Awake  and  quicken,  and  where  all  is  well  ? 

I  lift  mine  eyes  to  thee! 

And  in  the  hurrying  clouds — that  blot  and 

blur 
Thy  stars  and  cold,  pale  moon — that  follow  me, 

I  trace  the  visions  of  the  things  that  were, 

And  weave  them  in  a  dream! 

Then,    all    my    soul,    deep-laden    and    o'er- 

fraught 

With  things  as  many  as  the  stars  that  gleam, 
Lies  racked  beneath  vain  questionings  and 
thought. 

June,  1896. 


PANAMA  SONGS.  IT5 

HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

The  winds  are  up  with  litanies, 
And  the  Sailors'  hymn  swells  high; 

And  the  lillows  free 

Are  chanting  their  glee 
As  my  Ship  goes  sailing  by. 

The  stately  prow  dips  gracefully 
In  the  white  baptismal  sprays ! 

And  the  "Don"  doth  speed, 

Like  a  breathless  steed, 
O'er  the  fathomless,  boundless  ways! 

For  my  children  all  are  watching 
For  the  signal  from  the  sea —     ^ 

Oh,  each  one  doth  wait 

At  the  Garden  Gate 
With  wreaths  of  kisses  for  me. 

Then,  speed  my  Ship  o'er  the  waters ! 
Haste,  haste,  o'er  the  surging  foam ! 

For  my  soul  doth  long 

For  the  old  sweet  song 
Of  my  little  loved  ones  home. 

Oh!  I'm  sailing,  sailing,  sailing 
In  the  track  of  the  sea-weed  now; 


Il6  PANAMA   SONGS. 

And  my  heart  beats  high 
At  the  helmsman's  cry 
Of  "Land  on  the  starboard  bow !" 


And  the  birds  poise  on  the  topmast 
With  a  message  sweet  for  me; 
And  the  Blue  Peaks  rise 
'Gainst  my  native  skies 
Like  sentinels  on  the  sea! 

Oh,  I'm  sailing,  sailing,  sailing! 
And  my  big  Ship  hails  the  morn ; 

For  her  flags  wave  high 

To  the  land  where  I 
And  my  widowed-love  were  born. 

Oh!  I'm  sailing,  sailing,  sailing 
To  my  home  by  the  Caribee, 
Where  affections  flow 
And  the  true  hearts  glow 
With  a  deathless  love  for  me. 

July  22nd,  1896. 


PANAMA  SONGS.  1 17 

THERE'S  JOY  UPON  THE  SEA  TO-DAY 

There's  joy  upon  the  sea  to-day: 
See  how  yon  billows  rise, 

And  lash  my  ship, 

And  bound  and  skip, 
And  mount    p  to  the  skies! 
And,  one  by  one,  they  follow  us 
Across  the  boundless  sea; 

Till  ship  and  wave 

Together  rave — 
Vie  for  supremacy! 

The  white-capf  ed  billows  sweep  the  decks, 
And  dash  the  vigilant  crew; 

In  myriad  bands      -.  ^ 

They  clap  their  hands, 
And  lift  us  o'er  the  blue ! 
Till  down  we  go,  and  up  we  come — 
Poised  on  the  heaving  sea : 

My  ship  nor  minds 

Nor  wave  nor  winds, 
But  dashes  for  the  lea! 

There's  joy  upon  the  sea  to-day  i 
Dream-clouds  festoon  the  skies; 

And  underneath 

This  God-wove  wreath 
My  ship,  triumphant,  flies. 


Xg  PANAMA   SONGS. 

For  every  wind  of  heaven  is  up 
To  speed  my  ship  along — 

To  marshal  me 

Across  the  sea 
With  music  and  with  song. 

The  glad  waves  lift  the  hurrying  keel ! 
The  "Medway"  cleaves  the  foam. 

The  sun  has  gone, 

The  stars  are  born — 
To-morrow  we'll  be  home! 
Home  again  with  my  loved  ones- — 
Oh,  Helmsman,  guard  the  helm ; 

My  children  wait 

With  souls  elate — 
Oh!  steer  me  safe  to  them. 

Oh,  Helmsman !  safe  across  the  deep — 
Helmsman;  the  night  wind  moans; 

The  tackle  sings, 

My  brave  ship  springs 
High  in  the  stellar  zones! 
And  sways  and  bounds  up  to  the  night 
To  chase  the  vanishing  stars — 

Speeds  on  her  way 

To  reach  the  Bay 
With  buntings  on  her  spars. 

I'm  sailing  back  to  Love  again — 
Love,  boundless  as  the  sea — 


PANAMA   SONGS.  IJ9 

To  Love  that's  kind, 

To  Loves  that  bind 
Immortal  wreaths  for  me — 
To  Home,  to  Love,  to  Home  again — 
To  hearts  all  tried  and  true! 

Oh,  side  by  side, 

Each  one  doth  bide 
My  ship  across  the  blue. 

I'm  dreaming  dreams  of  'phemeral  joys, 
Weft  of  the  mid-night's  loom : 

I  hear  the  din 

Of  children  in 
My  Sydna-Cottage  room  r 
They're  donning  it  with  roses  sweet, 
And  fairy  palms  and  spice — 

With  mottoes  such 

As  but  Love's  touch 
Could  fashion  in  Device. 

There's  joy  upon  the  sea  to-day — 
And  gladness  on  the  shore: 

Six  hearts  aglee 

All  wait  for  me 
To  welcome  me  once  more. 
Methinks  I  hear  their  tambourines' 
And  pop-guns'  wild  alarms ! 

With  hearts  aglow 

Of  Love's  true  flow 
They'll  take  me  to  their  arms. 


I2O  PANAMA   SONGS. 

With  wreaths  of  kisses  twined  for  me 
They  wait  to  greet  me  back — 

Upon  the  motr 

Or  by  the  door 

They're  watching  for  the  hack. 
I  hear  their  stormy  prattling 
Re-echo  o'er  the  brine : 

And  in  the  row, 

Says  Lucille,  "Now 
The  first  kiss  shall  be  mine!" 

There's  joy  in  many  a  heart  to-day! 
My  native  hills  loom  high ; 

The  sea-£iills  pass 

And  chant  their  mass, 
And,  hurrying,  homeward,  fly 
With  a  message  to  my  loved-ones — 
God  bless  them! — hear  that  drum! 

The  pop-guns'  blare, 

The  children  cheer, 
"Hurrah !  dear  Father  has  come." 

January,  1897. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  £21 

A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 

Last  night,  there  came  to  me 

A  message  o'er  the  azure  sea ; 

So  soft  it  came  across  the  brine, 

I  scarcely  dreamt  it  could  be  mine — 

An  Angel's  had  been  less  divine ! 

It  came,  that  eve,  like  some  stray  chord 

Of  music,  struck  by  the  Lord ! 

It  was  to  me  so  heaven-fair, 

I  felt  my  soul  dwelt  otherwhere: 

The  stars  a  brighter  silver  wore; 

The  waves  sang  sweeter  on  the  shore — 

The  full-round  moon,  Saint-white  above, 

Reflected  back,  meseemed,  the  love 

That  came  that  night  to  me 

In  a  message  o'er  the  sea. 

Out  of  this  message  sweet, 

A  thousand  buds  beneath  my  feet 

Burst  forth  into  immortal  flowers, 

That  wove  a  dial  of  golden  hours 

And  days  about  me,  till  my  path, 

With  Love's  delicious  aftermath 

Was  myrtle-heaped,  and  redolent 

Of  Love's  new  Spring,  whose  sweetness  blent 

With  strange,  soft  odors,  till  the  night, 

That  was  with  moon  and  star  sheen  dight, 

Betime  seemed  one  vast  Araby 


122  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Of  blended  scents,  whose  witchery 
Did  fill  my  soul  with  harmonies 
And  silver-throated  symphonies, 
That  held  my  soul  in  subtle  bond 
And  prison  of  song — my  Muse  beyond. 

I  only  felt — can  only  feel : 
What  have  I  of  the  gift  and  skill 
Of  poesy,  to  frame  in  song 
The  cadences  my  spirit  throng? — 
Aswoon  with  joy,  of  late  no  part 
Of  me,  I  took  unto  my  heart 
The  message  sweet,  and  left  it  there, 
Where  love  shall  blossom  lily-fair! 
Where  never  boreal  winds,  astir, 
Shall  chill  the  love  I  have  for  her — 
Nor  Arctic  snows  my  lov^  buds  blight, ; 
But  like  a  star,  burnt  in  the  night, 
Our  love  in  bur  own  heaven  shall  glow 
To  light  our  little  world  below — 
I  know  not  why  I  love  her  so ! 

Nor  how  it  came  to  pass 

I  met  her  at  the  dying  mass 

Of  day,  beneath  the  trellised  porch, 

The  evening  sun's  expiring  torch 

Had  kissed  with  many  a  golden  ray — 

Or  what  compelled  my  feet  that  way? 

I  only  know  that  in  her  manse 


PANAMA   SONGS.  .133 

I  found  me  soon  by  some  strange  chance 
Of  Fortune,  or  happy  circumstance! — 
In  converse,  many-thinged,  we  fell; 
And  as  I  rose  to  part,  I  pressed 
My  whole  heart  in  her  hand,  for  quest 
Of  Love,  methought  I  saw,  dream-wise, 
Across  the  Heaven  of  her  blue  eyes. 
Then,  out  in  the  dim  twilight  I  went — 
Aglow  was  all  the  Occident, 
As  though  the  drowsy  West,  low-bent, 
Had  caught  the  spirit  and  the  fire 
Of  all  my  longing  soul's  desire !  — 
And  so,  with  thoughts  of  her  I'd  won, 
I  walked  home  at  the  set  of  sun 
That  eve,  with  hopes  new  love  had  spun — 
I  know  not  how  this  love  begun ! 
I  only  know  that  soon-  she  crept' 
Deep  in  my  heart,  where  she  was  kept 
A  prisoner  of  Love's  prison  cell, 
Where  she,  forevermore,  shall  dwell. 
August,  1897. 


THE  OPERA  CLOAK. 

Over  the  waters  blue,  Love — 

O'er  the  fathomless,  boundless  sea, 

I  send  thee  a  token  of  love  unbroken — 
My  love  undying  for  thee. 


I24 


PANAMA  SONGS. 


Tis  a  token,  Love,  that's  woven 

In  the  loom  of  the  heathen  "  Chinee" — 

Oh,  each  silken  thread,  that  the  deft  loom  hath 

wed, 
My  heart  binds  nearer  to  thee ! 

And  so,  may  the  folds  of  the  Cloak,  dear, 

A-flowing  thy  shoulders  above, 
Thy  delicate  form,  from  the  stress  of  the  storm, 

Protect  now  and  ever,  my  Love! 

Then,  here's  the  Cloak,  and  my  Song,  Love — 
My  song  that  is  born  of  thee! — 

The  gift  and  the  token  of  Love  unbroken — 
My  love  undying  for  thee. 

October,  1897. 


WAITING. 

She  waits  for  me — Alethia — 

Where  the  sunbeams  kiss  the  noon'; 

Where  the  glad  winds  moan, 

In  a  sweet,  soft  tone, 
He  cometh  to  his  own  love  soon. 


PANAMA  SONGS. 

She  waits  for  me — Alethia — 

Where  the  Southern  Cross  shines  through, 
And  the  sun  doth  vie 
With  the  light  of  her  eye, 
And  the  sea  with  its  violet-blue. 

/ 
She  waits  for  me — Alethia — 

Where  the  south-wind  woos  the  sea — 
Where  the  Palm  Trees  loom, 
And  the  violets  bloom, 
She  waiteth,  my  Sweetheart,  for  me ! 

he  waits  for  me — Alethia — 
By  the  south-bound  hall  alone, 

Where,  heart  unto  heart, 

We'll  each  impart 
The  love  that  was  never  full  known. 

he  waits  for  me — Alethia — 
By  the  hall-way  'cross  the  green, 
For  the  love  that's  due 
O'er  the  boundless  blue — 
For  the  Ship  that'll  soon  come  in. 

ctober,  1897. 


126  PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  WIND,  THE  WAVE  AND  ALETHIA 

Over  the  fathomless,  boundless  sea, 
A  wind  one  morn  went  sweeping — 

Over  the  wide  and  refluent  tide, 
Where  an  infant  wave  lay  sleeping. 

And  it  said  to  the  Wave,  "Sweet  Wave,  I 
crave, 

Thou  comest  with  me  a-roaming 
Across  the  sweep  of  the  purple  deep — 

Over  the  waters  foaming." 

Quoth  the  Wave  to  the  Wind,  "My  lute  and 
thine, 

Then  string  to  a  tension  ringing 
With  songs  so  sweet  that  the  sea-gulls  fleet 

Pause  raptured  with  our  singing." 

And  we'll  sail  away — far  out  to  a  Bay 
That  Love  each  day  is  limning — 

To  a  lady  fair,  with  dream-gold  hair, 
We'll  go  sweet  songs  a-singing." 

And  the  Wave  and  the  Wind  sailed  o'er  t^ie 
brine — 

Across  the  Carib  fleeting, 
Till  on  a  shore  where  Love  bounds  o'er, 

They  sang  their  songs  of  greeting. 


MANAMA   SONGS.  1 27 

(Sang  the  iWind.) 

OH,  lady  fair,  with  dream- gold  hair, 
I  come  o'er  the  woodlands  speeding — 

Over  the  lea,  over  the  sea, 
I  come  at  Love's  own  pleading. 

I've  roamed  the  meadows  and  'prairies 
through — 

I've  kissed  every  leaf  and  flower; 
'And  on  my  wing  sweet  spice  I  bring, 

And  rose-scents  for  thy  bower. 

I've  come  whence  my  brother,  the  North-Wind, 
wails 

And  frets  for  thee  through  the  gloaming — 
Where  Solitude,  in  brotherhood 

With  Love,  for  thee  sits  moaning. 

Oh,  lady  fair,  zvith  dream- gold  hair, 

I  come  with  Myrtle  teeming — 
This  love-wove  wreath  for  thee,  'Aleth', 

I  bring  with  love-stars  gleaming. 

I've  roamed  the  valleys  and  mountains  blue — 
I've  come  o'er  the  waters  fleeting — 

Over  the  vales  and  hills  and  dales, 
I  come  with  Love's  sweet  greeting. 


I2g  PANAMA   SONGS. 

'(Sang  the  Wave.) 

0  Love,  O  Life,  O  Love,  soon  wife — 
O  Love,  with  gold  hair  streaming — 

With  violet  eyes  that  mock  the  skies, 
The  stars'  and  crescents'  gleaming! 

1  come  from  alien  lands  afar; 

And,  on  my  bosom  heaving, 
I  bring  for  thee,  from  over  the  sea, 
A  message  of  Love's  giving. 

From  Love  that  sings  of  thee  all  through 
The  long,  sad  nights  and  lonely, 

The  sea  near-by,  where  Love  and  I 
Keep  fellowship  and  only. 

Z4.  thousand  dreams  are  ours,  Aleth,' 
Of  joys,  reft  of  all  sorrow — 

Dreams  of  a  day  that  Love  doth  say 
Foretell  a  sweet  to-morrow, 

When  every  wind  of  heaven  and  I, 
Responsive  to  Love's  pleading, 

Across  the  sea  shall  bear  to  thee 
Thy  Love,  triumphant,  speeding. 

I  know  thy  secret  well,  for  Love  and  I — 
'At  nights  when  stars  went  spooning 
9 


PANAMA   SONGS. 

The  palm-trees  through  that  rim  the  blue — 
Have  held  our  sweet  communing. 

So,  lend  thine  ear — that's  my  message; 

For  now  thy  lips  Love  merits; 
I  give  thee  this  and  this  and  this — 

The  kisses  Love  inherits. 

November,  1897. 


FAREWELL,  SWEETHEART. 

Farewell,  Sweetheart — ten  thousand  sad  fare- 
wells ! 

Over  the  boundless  deep  thou'rt  speeding — 
Far  from  thy  alien  home,  where  thine  own 

Love  dwells — 

Far  from  the  heart,  that  for  thee's  left  bleed- 
ing! 

Thou  wilt  not  see  me  in  the  morn : 
Thou  wilt  have  left  me  all  forlorn — 
Thy  ship  a-sailing  o'er  the  sea — 
Thyself,  Sweetheart,  full  many  a  mile  from 
me! 


130 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


farewell! — my   heart   doth   grieve  that   thou 
shouldst  go; 

But  when  thou  art  gone,  far  away,  I  alone 
Will  stray  by  the  banks  where  the  waters  flow, 

To  catch,    from   out  the  billows'   ceaseless 

moan, 

The  far-off  echoes  of  thy  voice — 
Some  message  from  my  own  Love's  choice — 

To  tell  me,  Sweetheart,  thou  art  well — 

Good-bye! — God  bless  thee,  and  farewell. 

December,  1898. 


THEY'RE  GOING. 

They're  going — 

Ten    thousand    myrtled-wreaths    go    with 

them! 
With  rosaries  kiss-strung  to  overflowing, 

They  go,  and  my  heart  with  them. 

They're  going — 

With  blessings  manifold — Oh!  God  go  with 

them, 
His  image  mirrored  in  the  billows'  flowing, 

The  passionate  tides  to  stem. 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


[They're  going  — 

Hush!  Let's  sing  it  to  the  fathomless  sea! 
Let's  wing  the  -song  unto  the  waves,  imploring 

Their  mercy  —  clemency. 

They're  going  — 

Last  night  I  read  it  in  the  star-jewelled 

skies  ; 
And  something  fell,  belike  a  dew-drop  glowing,, 

From  out  n.,  soul-sad  eyes. 

They're  going  — 

Come  —  a  prayer,  a  benediction  and  a  psalm  ; 
Winds  of  the  North,  South,  East  and  West! 
cease  blowing  — 

Billows  of  the  waste,  be  calm. 

+> 

For  they're  going  — 

The  tender  offsprings  of  two  loves  divine  — 
They're  going  where  two  loves  converge,  un- 
knowing 

iThe  depths  of  each  one  —  mine. 

They're  going  — 

Before  my  door  the  lilies  droop  and  weep  ; 
And  hearts  are  grieving  too  because  they're 
going, 

Their  loved-ones  o'er  the  deep! 


132  PANAMA    SONGS. 

They're  going! 

The  morrow's  sun'll  set,  and  stars  pearl-pale 

be  born ; 
And  other  suns  shall  rise,  new  bride-morns 

wooing ; 
But,  Oh ! — the  children  shall  have  gone. 

December,  1901. 


A  TOAST. 

Hands  all  'round! 

And  hearts  while  the  bowls  are  flowing; 
For  it's  many  years — just  twenty  years 

Of  a  Love  of  long,  long  wooing. 

Hands  all  'round! 

For  to-night  their  hearts  are  glowing 
With  two  souvenirs — the  gifts  of  years — 

Living  dowers  of  God's  bestowing. 

Hearts  all  'round! 

Hearts  filled  with  a  true  love  growing! 
For  it's  many  years,  through  nights  of  cafes, 

Their  visrils  we've  been  knowing. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  133 

Then,  it's  glass  all  'round ! 

A  toast  and  a  wish  ere  going : 
Here's  health  to  them — long  life  to  them ! — 

Rich  harvests  from  their  sowing. 

February  2nd,  1902. 


A  MEDITATION. 

Again  new  moon  the  heaven  doth  dight ; 

The  drowsy  stars,  with  sleep  aswoon, 
All  abdicate  the  throne  of  night 

Unto  the  Regent  Moon. 

Peace  broodeth  on  the  azure  deep — 

The  peace  some  hearts  with  joy  had  stirred 

The  peace  they've  not — will  never  reap 
Through  thought  or  deed  or  word. 

Swiftly  the  days  speed  on  and  on — 
The  sunsets  hoard  their  wealth  of  gold, 

Till  in  the  flood  of  years  are  gone 
Our  hopes  and  longings  manifold. 

April,  1902. 


134  PANAMA   SONGS. 

I'VE}  SET  MYSELF  A  LESSON  TO 
LEARN. 

I've  set  myself  a  lesson  to  learn : 
'Tis  hard;  but  I'm  a  dunce  at  best — 

My  slate  is  all  a-blur  and  worn 
With  Friendship's  interest! 

Nathless  I  wait — with  tearful  gaze 
I  pierce  the  starry  world  on  high, 

And  fervently  I  pray  that  days 
Of  better  things  be  nigh. 

For  in  this  voyage  of  blinding  dark, 
Head  winds  and  seas  my  Craft  assail  !— 

God  send  my  storm-tossed,  fragile  bark 
In  safety  through  this  gale. 

April,  1902. 


NEW  YORK. 

I've  just  been  a  guest  of  the  waters; 

I'm  just  now  from  over  the  sea — 
JA  wife  and  two  sons  and  four  daughters, 

And  a  lazy  coon  'companied  met 


PANAMA   SONGS. 

I've  just  seen  the  sights  of  a  City 

That  Sleep  buildeth  only  in  dreams! — 

Palaces,  Sky-Scrapers  giddy, 

And  Sunday  newspapers  by  reams! 

And  Autos  all  madly  careering 

Through  Avenues,  Streets  and  Har-few/ 
And  "Us"  where  men  sit  all  don't-caring 

For  ladies  who  stand  up  'fore  them. 

Last  night  I  went  down  into  Dream-land, 
And  I  took  all  the  children  with  me ; 

We  frolicked  and  played  on  a  gold  strand — 
New  York  is  the  ideal  for  me! 

It's  the  City  of  Cities—the  City 

My  soul  goes  out  to  in  refrain  f 
Oh,  I  would  that  my  pen  were  but  witty 

To  limn  her  my  love,  as  I'd  fain. 

But  I  sing  to  her,  light  though  my  song  is — 
I  dream  of  those  months  holidays! — 

The  Suppers,  "Wild  Rose"  and  "Quo  Vadis," 
And  Races  a-down  Sheepsh  '  Bay. 

I've  visited  lands  o'er  far  waters — 

Seen  women,  the  fairest  of  fair; 
But  to  me  North  America's  daughters 

For  beauty  stand  foremost,  I  swear ! 


PANAMA   SONGS. 


I've  travelled  from  Calais  to  Dover  — 
To  Paris  and  London  and  Cork; 

But  give  me,  ten  thousand  times  over 
All  other  great  Cities,  New  York. 

July,,   1902. 


IN  DREAM  LAND. 

Last  night  I  dreamt  the  world  was  sorrow- 
grown  ; 

That  Peace,  whereof  so  few  had  little  part, 
With  fruitless  vigils  bent,  had,  weary  flown 
And  furled  her  wings  beyond  the  strife-full 
mart, 

Where  Peace  was  aye ;  for  in  this  pearly  realm 
Of  Comfort-Thoughts,  wherein  she'd  sought 

to  dwell, 

Empire  was  hers,  and  swift  responsive  helm, 
That  no   rude   tempests   shook,    nor   aught 
befell. 


Late,  failure  had  been  her  part  and  many  tears ; 
For  all  the  stormy  passions  of  Love's  soul 


PANAMA   SONGS.  [137 

Peace  had  essayed  to  quell,  thro'  years  and 

years, 

Their  bondage  broke  fier.ce  as  yon  Ocean's 
roll! 


And    dreaming   on — my    soul    a~swoon    with 

sleep; 
And   yet,    perchance,    I    might    have   been 

awake, 
So  real  the  dream — methought  I  heard,  full 

deep, 

The  sound   of  voices  twain  that  troubled 
spake : 

A  thousand  plaints  seemed  theirs  who  converse 

held! 
And,  peering  thro'  the  Night,  all  moon-star 

aureoled, 

For  knowledge  of  the  ones  thaf  thus  rebelled, 
I  saw,  wasted  by  conflicts  manifold, 


The  crouched  form  of  Peace,  all  Hoary  grown ! 
No  wealth  of  morn  illumed  her  tear-spent 

eyes — 

'Midst  waste  of  night,  and  crumbled  column- 
stone 
She  sat,  a-weary,  down — nevermore  to  rise. 


13?  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Dreaming  —  until   the  dream   seemed   half  a 

Creed — 
I  turned  and  gazed,  when,  lo!  before  Peace 

stood 
Love,    that    once   was    Love,    but    since    had 

mutinied, 
Severe — bereft  of  Love's  beatitude! 

Love  spake  no  more  to  Peace,  grown  idol- 
dumb; 
For  all  Love's  Words  seemed  kindled  into 

flame, 

That  silent  stirred  Love's  soul  to  mad  delirium, 
Unconscious  whose  the  praise  and  whose  the 
blame. 

Dreaming,    weeping,    dreaming — weeping  in- 
tense ! 
I  dreamt  that  Peace  lay  dead,  that  Love, 

heart-broke 

And  whelmed  with  tears,  too  late,  of  penitence, 
Beside  dead  Peace  sat  down,  when  lo!  I 
woke! 

September,  1902. 


PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  MYSTIC  NINE. 

He's  lily-fair, 

With  golden  hair — 
His  eyes,  soft-blue — skin,  mellow; 

He's  a  prize-show  boy — 

His  parents'  joy; 
In  sooth,  he's  a  lovely  fellow! 

He  came  to  us  at  the  hour  of  two — 
On  the  third  day  o'f  September 

To  swell  my  e'er  increasing  crew 
By  one  more  little    lember. 

Oh !  he  came,  the  sweet  lad, 

And  all  hearts  are  glad — 
E'en  the  stars  sing  a  song  of  greeting! 

And  the  waves  on  the  shore 

Chant  of  one  life  more 
From  God's,  to  our  own 'keeping. 

September,  1902. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  A  COAL  MINER. 
"(To  Mr.  Capital.) 

So,  you've  lost  once  more,  Mr.  Capital? 

You've  lost,  and  you'll  lose  again! 
For  Labor's  not  the  Chap  at  all 

To  be  treated  with  disdain 


I4O  i  PANAMA    SONGS. 

It  is  true  I'm  but  a  poor  Coal  Miner-^ 
You're  king  of  your  millions,  ten! 

But  I'm  Labor,  and  a  strong  Combiner 
For  the  Rights  of  my  fellow-men! 

Can  you  burn  gold-bars,  Mr.  Capital, 
When  the  weather  is  all  a- freeze  ? 

Can  you  run  your  Trains  or  Ships  at  all 
When  the  Coal-shafts  stand  at  ease? — ' 

You're  freezing  to  death,  Mr.  Millionaire! 

But  what  is  your  wealth  'gainst  Coal? 
All  your  Steamers'  dates  are  out  of  gear, 

And  your  Yachts  at  anchor  roll. 

You've  lost,  and  the  strife  is  ended — 

We've  won — would  you  grudge  us? — say, 

You've  never  in  your  life  descended 
A  shaft  with  your  men  one  day!  _ 

You  live  on  your  Lordly  rations, 

And  banquet  on  your  dream-grape  wines, 

Oblivious  of  the  sad  privations 

Of  the  men  in  your  dank  coal  mines ! 

You've  lost,  and  it's  past — here's  my  hand, 

Sir- 
Here's  my  hand,  though  the  blame  is  yours ; 


PANAMA   SONGS.  141 

Here's  my  hand  that  has  won  for  you  lands, 

Sir, 
And  your  millions  by  the  scores. 

October,  1902. 


SO  LET  IT  BE. 

Well,  perchance  'tis  best: 

Friendships  they  come  and  go 

Like  wave-breaks  on  old  Ocean's  breast — 
Lost  in  the  ebb  and  flow ! 

And  so  let  it  be! 

Oh,  I  ween  it  boots  not ! 
For  Truce  is  only  Truce  to  me 

When  everything's  forgot. 

And  yet,  hath  he  aught — 

Aught  to  forgive — forget? 
I've  never  wronged  him  in  one  thought — 

In  deed  or  one  word  yet. 

Yes,  we  once  were  friends — 

Friends  staunch  and  tried  and  true; 

But  then  the  flame  that  forged  twain  ends 
In  One,  is  dead  in  Two. 


142  PANAMA    SONGS. 

Coffin  the  corpse,  then; 

And  dust  to  dust  heap  high! 
I  sing  no  dirge  nor  weep  Amen — 

To  me  he's  dead  for  aye. 

December,  1902. 


NIGHT. 

Out  of  the  dreamy  West,  Night  came  again — 
The  heavens  surpliced  in  the  white  of  stars, 

And  moon  that  dropped  soft  showers  of  argent 

rain 
O'er  the  glad  waters  and  the  moaning  bars. 

Musing  I  sat,  then  'round  my  day-worn  soul 
I  drew  the  peaceful  pinions  of  the  Night, 

And  left  my  longings  to  the  stern  control 
Of  Fate — and  looked  back  to  a  fallen  height ! 

I  made  no  murmur;  but  watched  the  white 

moon  wane 

Beneath  a  cloud — no  harbinger  of  calms! 
Then,  as  a  Mother  soothes  her  child  in  pain, 
The  meanwhile-darkness  soothed  my  soul's 
alarms. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  143 

Comforted,  I  gave  my  soul  up  to  the  Night — ' 

A  thousand  martins  twitter  on  the  trees; 
The  billows  glistened  'neath  the  moon-beams 

white — 

Sweet  was  the  music  'neath  of  the  bugle- 
breeze. 

Then,    back    I    took    my    soul    again,    and 

dreamed — 

Dreamt  of  my  loved-ones  o'er  the  boisterous 
brine !  I 

I  traced  each  lineament  till  each  face  seemed 
Around  me  gathered,  with  their  loves  divine. 


The  moon  waned;  the  stars  in  heaven  grew 

blind; 

The  waves  lay  pillowed  on  a  peaceful  sea; 
Hushed  was  the  music   of   the   North   East 

wind — 

The  martins  dreamt  bird-dreams,  and  I — 
well,  ah!  me. 

December,  1902. 


144  PANAMA  SONGS. 

NEW  YEAR'S  EVE, 
(1902-1903.) 

Comrades,  draw  your  chairs  around  me — 
Come  a-near,  and  let's  review, 

O'er  this  wassail-bowl  and  holly, 

Grim  old  Nineteen  Hundred,  Two-— 

Grim  with  War  and  burning  Lavas  — 
Grim  with  Death,  oh !  Mount  Pelee ! 

Forty  thousand  Aves — Aires, 

Soared  in  vain  to  heaven  and  thee! 

We,  too,  home  have  had  our  sorrow : 
Crimson  rains  've  fallen  like  dew ! — 

I,  myself,  have  had  my  morrows 
And  my  days  and  nights  of  rue! 

But  it's  New  Year's  Eve,  my  Comrades; 

Brim  the  wassail-bowl  again! 
Sing  until  the  Halls  of  Decades 

Tremble  with  the  glad  refrain — 

Sing — but,  hark !  Old  Year  is  dying : 

Hark  the  echoes  o'er  the  sea 
Of  the  Church  Bells  prophesying 

New  Year,  Nineteen  Hundred,  Three ! 


PANAMA   SONGS.  145 

Hush  the  Song  and  cease  the  revel! — 
One  tear  to  our  kindred  dead; 

Toss  to  absent  ones  a  wassail: 
Toast  the  land  our  footstepb  tread. 

Drink  to  Friendships  purer — truer, 
Round  this  Ring  that's  almost  bare: 

Hands  are  missing,  friends  are  fewer, 
Thus  the  Circle  thins  each  year. 

Pass  the  bowl ! — but,  man,  you're  weeping ! 

Did  the  music  of  the  bells 
Stir  your  tears,  awake  some  sleeping 

Memories  of  sad  farewells?  — 

Did  you  wander  back  to.  Childhood  ? — 
Friends,  I've  long  since  walked  that  way ; 

For  Old  Time  my  brow  has'  furrowed, 
And  my  locks  have  grown  all  gray. 

Hands  all  round ! — the  time  is  flying- 
Draw  the  Circle  nearer — near; 

Hark  the  bells — Old  Year  is  dying  — 
Dead,  my  Comrades ! — Happy  New  Year. 

1902-1903. 


146  PANAMA   SONGS. 

A  CAT'S  OBITUARY. 

'Twas  only  a  Cat; 

But  what  of  that  ? 
We  loved  her  and  cared  her  well ! 

She  was  Lucille' s  joy, 

And  Ivan's  toy, 
And  Leonie's  Cinderell'. 

A  Chair  was  her  bed, 
Where  she  slept  and  fed — 

Manoeuvred  in  mimic  fights! 
She  was  no  cat-thief, 
For  she  had  roast-beef 

At  morning,  noon  and  nights. 

She  was  full  tame — 
Well,  she  had  no  name — 

Baptismal  one,  I  mean; 

"Pussy,"  "pussy"  was  she 
To  Leonie  and  me — 

To  Lucille  she  was  Queen. 

But  there  came  a  day, 

I'll  mind  alway, 
She  picnicked  with  us  by  Train, 

Till  at  Hindi  nigh, 

The  folks  screamed  high, 
"The  cat  has  a  fit  again!" 


PANAMA  SONGS.  147 

I  had  just  read  done 

A  New  York  Sun — 
:To  the  Kit  at  once  I  hied; 

I  found  her  aswoon 

In  a  fit,  and  soon 
In  my  hand  the  poor  kit  died ! 

So,  up  on  a  hill, 

Where  the  winds  distil 
The  scent  of  Orange  and  pine, 

I  built  her  a  grave — 

Dear  Pussy!  I  crave 
A  cat-heaven  peace  be  thine. 

March  15th,  1903. 


JUST  A  WOMAN'S  WAY. 

She'll  be  very  kind  to  you  when  you  are  sick — 
She'll  be  kinder  yet  to  you  when  you  are 
dead: 

She'll  forget  your  cranky  notions  very  quick, 
And  forgive  you  for  the  selfish  life  you  led. 

She'll  feel,  too  late,  you  loved  her  in  a  way 
She  never  knew  nor  tried  to  understand  I 

She'll  be  sorry  for  the  things  she  used  to  say, 
And  she'll  yearn  to  feel  the  pressure  of  your 
hand. 


148  PANAMA    SONGS. 

She'll  weep  for  you,  but  not  for  very  long; 
For  soon  another  one  will  take  your  place ; 
And  she'll  sing  to  him  the  sweetest  kind  of 

song, 

As  she  holds  him  in  her  tender,  warm  em- 
brace. 

For  few  brief  months,  but  just  for  Fashion's 

sake, 

She'll  don  the  epicedial  mockery, 
Whose  place  the  gold  and  crimson  soon  will 

take, 
As  one  scene  takes  another's  in  a  comedy! 

She'll  be  happy  with  her  newest,  latest  rings — 
To  the  next  man,  how  she  loves  him  she'll 

confess : 
Oh,  she'll  tell  him :  "You're  an  Angel  without 

wings" — 
As  her  new  toy  to  her  bosom  she  doth  press. 

She'll  soon  forget  the  grave  upon  the  Hill ; 
And  weeds  will  run  where  flowers  were  wont 

to  grow — 

She'll  think  of  him  no  more  who  used  to  thrill 
Her  heart  at  his  home-coming  and  saddened 
as  he'd  go. 

May,  1903. 


PANAMA  SONGS. 

TO  SIR  THOMAS  LIPTON. 


So,  you've  come  again,  Sir  Lipton, 
A-chasing  your  pet-dream  ?  — 

You've  come  again,  for  you're  hipped  on 
"America's"  Cup,  'twould  seem. 

For  it's  thrice  you've  crossed  the  ocean 

To  battle  for  the  Cup, 
And  it  seems  you  have  no  notion 

Of  giving  your  pet-dream  up! 

kWith  Shamrocks  One  and  Two  you  came 
And  now  you've  brought  the  Third; 

But  she  will  have  no  easy  game: 
"Reliance"  is  a  "bird!"— 

A  dream,  a  swan  on  the  water!  — 

A  fiend  till  she  is  done  ! 
If  you  don't  look  out  she'll  slaughter 

Your  "Shamrock  Third"  each  run. 

In  Twice  times  One  you  got  it  where 

The  chicken  got  the  ax! 
In  Three  times  One,  Sir  Tom,  beware 

Of  how  you  make  your  tacks  ! 

For  the  Yankee  Boat's  a  demon!  — 
A  holy  terror  'mongst  Yachts! 


150  PANAMA  SONGS. 

She  has  no  lubbers  for  sea  men, 
But  "Salts"  and  lightning  knots. 

I  am  a  true  born  Britisher, 

And  yet  I've  gloried  in 
Your  two  defeats,  but  now  I'm  for 

And  with  you  in  this  spin! 

For  of  the  Sportsmen  I  have  met 
You  are  the  King,  I  trow — 

Dunraven  tried  his  best  to  get 
The  Cup — got  left — you  know. 

I'm  betting  all  I  have  on  earth 
This  time,  Sir  Tom,  on  you; 

So  whistle,  Sir,  for  all  you're  worth, 
And  wake  the  winds  up — do ! 

And  spread  your  canvas  forward — aft, 
And  warn  jour  bloomin'  crew, 

They'll  have  to  lick  the  Yankee  Craft, 
And  lift  the  Cup  for  you. 

August,  1903. 


PANAMA   SONGS. 

THE  SLATE'S  REDEMPTION, 

Last  night,  I  sat  me  down  full  wearily — 
Dreamt  of  my  heart-aches,  sorrows  and  my 
pain! 

And  yet,  in  sooth,  I  looked  more  cheerily 
Upon  the  world — saw  one  bright  star  again. 

I  sat  me  down,  and  counted  all  the  years 
Of  "Gold-barred"  silence  'twixt  my  Love 
and  I  !— 

I  took  my  slate  again — reck'd  up  th'  arrears 
Of  my  late  life,  that  seemed  to  multiply. 

Musing,  I  watched  the  goblin-figures  rise 
Before  my  vision,  westerning  of  late; 

I  did  not  chide  myself,  nor  sermonize ; 
I  only  sought  redemption  for  my  slate. 

Nor  sought  that  very  long ;  for  Love,  to  whom 
I  poured  my  soul,  in  full,  out  yesterday — 

Confessed  my  secret-sorrow,  and  the  gloom 
That  tore  my  heart,  had,  bless  her!  found 
the  way. 

And  so,  through  Love,  and  one  true  Achates, 
I  lift,  to-night,  the  burthen  off  my  slate, 

And  fill  my  spirit  with  the  rose-release, 

Triumphant  Love  hath  strewn  before  my 
gate! 


152 


PANAMA  SONGS. 


I  make  no  murmur,  nor  complain  e'er  more; 

But  watch  the  world  swing  'round  a  golden 

ring 
Of  Time  and  space,  until  each  dawn  doth  pour 

Its  flood  of  sunshine  and  bird-caroling — 

Till  Night,  a  starry  thing  of  wonder  is! — 
Belike,  in  sooth,  the  Bethlehem  of  old — 

The  West,  a-glow  with  dream  cloud  argosies 
A-sailing  freighted  with  the  Sunset's  gold! 

I  dream  no  more  of  melancholy  things, 

Nor  hold  sad  councils  with  the  nights — my 

soul, 

Belike  some  bird,  from  far,  long  wanderings 
Through  darkest  space,  at  last  doth  find  a 
goal 

Of  Morning  all  a-flowered  with  delight, 

And  sweet  idlesse,  and  golden  harvesting — 

Past  are  the  weary  longings  of  the  Night, 
And  dawn  steals  o'er  me,  hope  a-blossoming ! 

Dreams  within   dreams  of   future  vows  are 
mine! 

The  Past — of  many  a  melancholy  day, 
And  sleepless  nights  and  tears — I  now  consign 

Unto  the  Fast,  and  cast  my  slate  away! 


PANAMA   SONGS.  153 

For  now,  tny  heart  is  like  the  thrush's — light, 
And  buoyant  full,  and  prodigal  of  song! — 

Free  as  the  Nightingale's,  that  woos  the  night 
With  cadences,  and  thrills  the  starry-throng. 

And  so,  I  sit  me  down  in  sweet  content, 
And  tell  a  golden  rosary  of  days! — 

I  look  no  more  towards  the  Occident, 

Nor  weep  me  blind,  nor  plead  for  Time's 
delays, 

As  once  I  did  when  all  my  slate  was  blurred 
With  promises  that  filled  me  with  unrest! 

For  now,  with  every  man  my  plighted  word 
And  faith  I've  kept  with  interest  on  interest ! 

Yet  Time  was,  dark  nigt  t  my  ship  did  envelop ; 

But  once  upon  the  voyage,  meihought  I  saw 
A  friend-beam — I  stretched  my  hand  out  for  a 
rope, 

And  caught — not  e'en  the  shadow  of  a  straw. 

And  yet,  perchance,  the  glamour  and  the  glow, 
I  reck'd  that  night  and  counted  as  a  star 

To  guide  my  boatling  o'er  the  depths,  was  lo ! 
A  sneer  to  lure  me  to  some  sandy  bar. 

Nathless,  my  boat,  triumphant,  rode  the  tide: 
The  stormy  passion  of  the  night  soon  past! 


154  PANAMA   SONGS. 

Propitious  winds  my  sail  did  fill  with  pride; 
I  steered  for  port — I'm  anchored  there  at 
last. 

October,  1903. 


A  BIRD  SONG. 

There's  a  little  bird  that's  sleeping 
'Neath  the  cold  stars  of  to-night ; 
There  are  tender  hearts  a-weeping 
For  a  bird-soul  that's  a-flight! 

There's  an  empty  cage  that's  swinging 
To  the  music  of  the  breeze ; 

There  are  bird-songs  ringing — ringing 
In  mine  ears  bird-memories! 

There's  a  feed  that's  left  unfinished — 
There's  a  drink  yet  in  her  Cup ; 

But  the  hox   ,  that  undiminished 
In  our  hearts,  we've  given  up ! 

There's  a  Hook  that,  morn  and  evening, 

Woos  my  vision  to  a  door 
With  a  vain  trust  and  believing 

I  shall  see  her  as  of  yore. 


PANAMA   SONGS.  '155 

There  is  sorrow  in  the  bird-land — 
In  bird-heaven,  one  bird  more; 

There's  a  blessing  into  my  hand 
That  she  left  ere  all  was  o'er. 

There's  a  dream  my  soul's  possessing: 
That,  had  I  but  known  bird-lore, 

I  had  read,  ofttimes,  a  blessing 
In  the  bird-songs,  now  no  more. 

November,  1903, 


THERE  ARE. 

There  are  some  people 'on  this  Ecirth 
With  greeds  all  beyond  compare! 

You  may  give  them  every  cent  you're  worth 
And  more  they  will  want,  I  swear ! 

You  may  do  for  them  the  Ninety-Nine — 
If  you  don't  complete  the  Hundred, 

Your  soul  unto  Hades  they'll  consign 
For  the  One  that  you  have  plundered ! 

And,  figure  it  out  what  way  you  will — 
By  Measures,  Weights  or  Fractions — 


PANAMA  SONGS. 

If  you  want  to  lose  your  friends,  just  deal 
With  them  in  money-transactions. 

For,  it  seems  to  me,  for  all  you  do 

For  friends,  when  troubles  come  'round, 

The  most  you  get  is  a  kick  or  two, 
And  "cusses"  just  by  the  pound! 

But  I  take  my  kicks  and  "cusses"  with 

A  graceful  resignation, 
And  bind  them  up  in  a  shameful  wreath 

Of  rank  Depreciation. 

November,  1903. 


IN  LOVE-LAND. 

Give  me  my  harp  once  more, 
Ere  yet  my  dreams  are  run : 

I  have  a  song  I'd  sing  before 
This  little  book  is  done — 

A  little  song  of  life — 

Of  Death  and  deathless  Love — 
I'd  sing  in  this,  my  garden,  rife 

With  blessings  from  above! 


PANAMA    SONGS. 

Give  me  my  harp,  Sweetheart, 
And  kiss  each  string  that,  so, 

From  out  their  depths,  with  magic-art, 
My  Muse's  numbers  flow. 

For  here,  within  these  gates 
Of  Love's  enchanted  bower, 

I'd  tell  in  song  what  Love  relates 
To  me  in  Bud  and  flower — 

In  Bud,  a  clustered-three 

That  Love,  ne^v-born,  hath  doled; 
In  Flower,  just  six  left  unto  me — 

All  by  the  Love  of  old ! 

And  so,  I  sit  in  this 

Small  Kingdom  of  my  own, 

Contented  with  each  living  bliss, 
And  leave  the  worl  *  alone. 

For  in  this  peace- jeweled  spot, 
Immortal  wreaths  are  mine; 

And  Myrtle  and  Forget-Me-Not 
Two  Loves  around  me  twine. 

Here,  there  is  no  morrow 

That  Time  swings  'round  a-new, 
But  a  sun-beam  doth  not  borrow 

Out  of  eyes  of  heaven-blue; 


158  PANAMA  SONGS. 

Nor  yet  is  there  one  night 

That  ever  darkness  mars, 
But  ebon  eyes  are  there,  full  bright, 

To  substitute  the  stars! 

Musing,  I  sit  and  count 

Love's  precious  harvesting — 

Some  flushed  with  life  at  Youth's  fresh  fount- 
Others,  just  blossoming. 

Yet,  here,  not  only  Bud 

And  flower  about  me  bloom: 
The  Weeping  Willows  shed  their  flood 

Of  tears  o'er  many  a  tomb! 

By  these,  I  sit  me  down, 

Soul-deep  in  revery, 
'And  plant  on  each  a  deathless  crown 

Of  loving  memory ! 

And  here,  where  Winter's  snow 

Hath  fallen  thick  and  fast, 
I  sit  and  watch  the  We'st  a-glow 

With  all  my  suns  amassed. 

For  on  my  faded  brow, 

Old  Time  hath  chiselled  deep 
The  years  that  are  upon  me  now 

In  numbers  all  a-heap! 


PANAMA   SONGS.  J59 


And  now,  Sweetheart,  to  thee 
I  leave  this  harp  of  mine — 

Take  it  and  count  it  as  part  of  me, 
And,  when  I've  crossed  the  brine, 

Come  sometimes,  Sweet,  and  wake 

Upon  each  silent  string 
An  echo  of  my  voice,  that  take 

As  song  to  thee  I'd  sing. 


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